mamacate

Random Pictorial

Never fear, although we are beset by three-year-old temper tantrums and unreasonable professional demands and the remains of a hurricane, here at the chez mama summer palace*, we are, in fact, doing some relaxing.

*a rental house in Lake Placid, NY, rented for the week with good friend and fellow knitblogger Sara.

Naptime, as every parent knows, is not about the kids needing sleep, no matter what they say.  Henry's attempt to wake me up is completely fruitless, hence the photography.

I kept Julia's son, the train afficionado, very much in mind when we had the incredible experience of riding INSIDE a locomotive.  I wish he could have been there.  We had walked down to the scenic railroad station (a couple of blocks from the summer palace) to get the schedule for the next day.  A couple of the volunteer railroad engineers stopped by to move the locomotive to the other end of the train, and they invited us (okay, and the kids) to ride along in the cockpit (I'm sure Julia knows the correct word for this).  Dinner wound up being a bit late, which is high stakes gambling in a house with two three-year-olds, but it was worth it, and quite amazing.

Those are the engineers.  The coolest part was going across a street and waving from the locomotive at the cars waiting for the train crossing.  We rode the actual official scenic rail train today, which included viewings of multiple beaver dams and one federal correctional facility.  But it was fun.  There was a mechanical problem (I SWEAR we had nothing to do with it) so it was a bit of a wait before we left, and the conductor suggested singing campfire songs while we waited.  We took him at his word, and sang Laurie Berkner's greatest hits.  Loudly.  Luckily everyone near us had preschoolers too, but later on I did hear someone say "oh, those are the singing people again."  I couldn't quite tell the tenor of the comment, if you know what I mean.  I'm going to assume it's good.  Of course, you know they're humming Victor Vito now too.  My work there is done.

Our train trip brought us to a slightly sad little town that I think we saw the best of: a very friendly brick-oven pizza restaurant where they gave the kids pizza dough to play with while we waited (why oh why don't all restaurants do this?), and a very cute, rather peculiar tiny little yarn store called the Knitting Korner right across the street.

What are two knitbloggers to do but cut out and leave the spouses with the well-entertained kids to scope out a little yarn?

There was actually quite a nice shop, and particularly plenty of great books from Schoolhouse Press.  Latvian Dreams finally made its way home with me.

Later in the day, we eschewed our naps in favor of continuing our yarn crawl at Adirondack Yarns.

Great shop, and basically the polar opposite of the Knitting Korner.  The first place was full of good-quality but practical and well-priced stuff like Babajoe's WoolPak and Brown Sheep, while Adirondack Yarns is full of great-quality and incredibly expensive stuff like Fiesta Yarns and gorgeous Manos. This trip included my first sighting of SWTC's Karaoke in the wild.  Nice stuff.  Oh, and a big sign announcing Stephanie's upcoming visit in late September.  Always the last to know, I suppose...  We picked up At Knit's End POSTCARDS, and the woman at the shop complained about how they had run out of the book and they kept asking for more and they didn't have any and they sure wish they could get more.  All I can say is, go Stephanie.  Nice work.

We were sorely tempted, but managed to get out without purchasing the gorgeous beaded knit jewelry kits and the new self-striping yarns and the logo needle organizer.  We did, however, decide to have our own little knitalong.  Two thrummed mitten kits. 

[Imagine photo of thrummed mitten kits here, because my neighbor's wireless is not behaving and I can't upload my photos right now]

They no longer look like this, and are starting to look like little thrummed cuffs.  This thrumming business is certainly showing our different styles--Sara is making lovely perfect little thrums and I'm, um, slopping little scraps of roving into my mittens.  At least we can laugh at ourselves while we're laughing at each other.

Finally, we have a sweet little romance going on here.  Toby has a crush on Eleanor.  I have to keep reminding myself that they're not *actually* cousins, even though Sara's clan feels like family (without the bad part).  Not that it really matters, since, um, they're preschoolers.  But check out Toby's moves:

You know, a nice episode of Little Bear, turn down the lights, have a sippy cup, and just sneak that arm right around the girl's back.  Look out kindergarten is all I'm saying.  Eleanor's playing her hand pretty tight--she seems pretty charmed by the whole thing but is a bit cagey when we tease them mercilessly casually mention it.

There's more: my first hand-combed worsted, more Motley, progress on the unpronounceable shawl despite The Frogging Incident of Sunday Night, and plans for dyeing. And the fact that I bought the new crochet issue of IK and, um, I kinda want to make a bunch of those things, which makes it kind of too bad that I suck at crochet.  But I've sucked at lots of things before and managed to become mediocre at them with a little time and effort.  We all have our aspirations.

PS: I can get email, but writing back is a bit of a gigantic hassle, so please forgive my silence.  I've gotten some really good news and word of another convert to the dark side of spinners, and all is well.  Just a little radio silence for a while, which is probably good since otherwise I'd be on the computer all day.  Which would be too much NOT like vacation.

Note to Self

• Next time someone asks you to analyze something, survey someone, or summarize anything, even if they’re willing to pay you, the answer is NO.  Or perhaps, "Sure, I’ll do that first thing in 2007."
• Vacations, last time we checked, were supposed to be LESS stressful than daily life.
• Sometimes you can jump through hoops to get dialup in a rather remote mountain resort town, spending hours fiddling and giving your credit card number to various ISPs, and then the motel next door turns on its wireless modem, and you know, you’re all set.  I’m just saying.  Now how do I get rid of this stupid Juno speedband thing?
• Do NOT, no matter how close it is to naptime, and no matter that Terry (partner of Sara) carried Toby on her HIP the whole way and back the day before, do NOT attempt to carry your 30-lb son on your shoulders for a mile on a primitive trail through the woods.  Unless of course you enjoy holding your head at a quizzical angle and wincing in pain every time you have to move.  Because—NEWSFLASH—Terry is WAY tougher than you.  Like, duh.
• When you screw up the increases on your unpronounceable shawl (remember how I said it was so soothing and easy because I didn’t have to worry about increases?  Yeah, well, it wasn’t so much that I didn’t have to worry about increases as that I didn’t read the pattern), do not attempt to drop stitches down 12 rows to fix it, because you’re talking a lot of increases there and there is SO not enough slack to make them with, and when you realize this, don’t continue to press on, making the world’s tightest little yarn-overs as if it’s all going to come out in blocking even though you know way better than that, because when you’ve worked those rock-hard little stitches with not enough yarn, when you’ve spent four hours fiddling with this cursed mistake, you will hold it back, look at it with your head cocked at a quizzical angle (well, that’s actually because you can’t move your neck, but you know what I mean), and you will say to yourself, “self, you have to rip this back out, what the hell were you thinking?”  And you will have no answer.  We’ve had this conversation before.
• Finally, don’t take too long of a blogging break from the late report you’re working on, on vacation, for work (and don't tell me not to work on vacation, because people with three jobs and only 24 hours of child care don't get vacations, don't worry, it won't always be this way), because your partner, who is being a terribly good sport, will be back with the kids from the lake before you know it, and if you haven’t accomplished anything, you’re going to feel crappy and she will be unimpressed.

Also…oh, wait.  Right.  Okay, back to work…I mean vacation…oh, something.

Wednesday: Extra Late, Extra Random

I have like 50 things on my mind, none of which I can blog about, for reasons ranging from serious (major decisions for our family that could lead to wonderful things, but that take a certain amount of bravery in the present), to silly (I will have a great secret pal story after the reveal and I'm kind of bursting to tell it), to squarely in the category of TMI (my hormones behaved themselves really well when I was pregnant and regularly breastfeeding, but now that we're down to nursing once a day, they're acting up again and I'm not really enjoying the ugly effects of PCOS and the whole thing is just kind of a bummer.  I need to go see the endo, but I so don't feel like doing this whole vague-diagnosis trial-and-error thing again.  When I wanted a baby, it was worth it, but to keep myself from looking like a teenaged boy with a pot-belly, the motivation is not quite as strong.  I need to get more vain.).

Aren't you glad I held back on the TMI?  Yah.

Where were we?  Oh yes, random.

• So you know I'm into the cute kids saying funny stuff, right?  Go see Katy. The tankini Marcia cast the white light of sweet baby Jesus upon, thereby saving the boobage from its downward trend and giving me hope for, if not perkiness, well, containment.  From now on I think I will have to call it something else, is all I'm saying.  I suppose all this concern about downward trends is rather vain after all, isn't it?
• Now I'll prove that I am even more vain despite my reluctance to try various ineffective pills by telling you that I've adopted Deb's conditioner-only wash hair regimen for curly hair, as advocated on the Naturally Curly website, and it's kind of awesome.  You have to figure out how to adapt it just for your hair, but I love not having to plaster my hair with silicone every day in order to avoid an unmitigated 'fro.  Deb is quite serious about this and has lots of great links on the topic (who knew there was a site called Long Hair Community, and that it wasn't about, oh, I don't know, war resisters or Lynnrd Skynnrd fans or something)?  Deb did, that's who.  Anyway, it freaked me out to try it, but I did and it rocks hard.  Thanks, Deb.  Good hair goes a long way, even when your skin is not cooperating.
• Oh, and the mention of sweet baby Jesus brings to mind his self-appointed spokesman Pat Robertson's recent suggestion that the US assassinate the president of Venezuela.  Because it wouldn't affect the flow of oil.  That, and the whole praying for a "vacancy" on the supreme court (how's that whole thyroid thing working out for ya there, your honor?).  What a guy.  I mean, he was not exactly my hero before, but that there is some pretty impressive nasty, no?  There's a petition if you fancy a little futile expression of outrage.  Because clearly this guy is going to say "Oh, RIGHT!  I forgot that inciting violent criminal activity is illegal and that praying for the death of a public servant is immoral, and well, stunningly tacky.  My next show will be about, oh, finding real solutions to the problem of children living in poverty!  Thanks!"
• Did you see Kepler, a super-cool free sweater pattern, designed by the clearly ridiculously talented Emily?  I'm tempted to make Eris, but I think I'm going to do this instead, for the moment.  I will probably replace the cable panel with something else, maybe BGW's baroque cable, just because I'm like that.   And even though the pattern ain't baroque, I want to fix it!  Stupid, stupid joke that I find endlessly funny.  Seriously, don't listen to chamber music with me because I'll make some variation of that joke every 15 minutes.  It's not pretty.  Anyway, there's a knitalong.
• This has motivated me to ply up some Motley the Marvelous Montadale and get to spinning some more, keeping those skeins coming.  Spinning that stuff is like watching re-runs of your favorite show on TV.  Uncomplicated, easy, enjoyable, and rather self-indulgent.  Love it.
• In an odd cascade of project interest, this has brought me back to the unpronounceable handspun Icelandic lace shawl.  It's at quite an easy stage as well, with a simple diamond pattern that doesn't involve the double-yarnovers or weird side and center increases of the first section, which kind of made me have to pay attention (I hate that).  Although I gave the wool an ample scouring before spinning, it has a faint scent of sheep still lingering, and I just love it.
• Speaking of Icelandics, I haven't been up to get Sara's fleeces yet.  I'm waiting to hear from Barbara, but I won't object to driving a bit of sheepy goodness around in my car for a couple of days.  My family might.
• The other day Rhys and I were talking Important Family Decisions, and I was flicking the moorritt with a dog comb and I paused to say, "Look at that.  Isn't it just wonderful?"  And she paused, looked at me with a mixture of bewilderment and pity and said, rather gently, "I'm glad that it's wonderful to you."  Tact.  It's all about tact.
• So this whole flicking with a dog comb thing isn't really working for me, and I'm overcome with a need for combs, as I mentioned.  Good advice in the comments, and Claudia in particular points out that I need something that stores safely and well.  I was resisting the Ramers, despite the fact that they were recommended by both Risa and Stephanie, two very smart fiber ladies.  But Janet Lynn at The Wheel Thing made me an offer I couldn't refuse and I'm gonna get me a set of walnut super minis, hopefully by Rhinebeck.  I peeked at them at Cummington, and they're nice, and they have the best storage setup I've seen.  Of course I will only comb after the kids are in bed (which is when I do most of this stuff, which is why I am up at midnight on a school night for the bazillionth night in a row), but in my tiny cluttered house, I need something that stores reliably and compactly.  So I'm psyched.  Perhaps I'm actually getting to a point where I can make a decision without second-guessing myself to within an inch of my life.  Huh.
• While, unlike some people, I have been doing more fiber cluttering than decluttering lately, I have been attacking the basement with great gusto.  The combination of our complete lack of a decision on whether to have more kids (the official, if not final, word on this is NO), and the two working parents and young twins thing has meant that most of our baby/kid stuff has just gotten stashed in the basement.  Well, some flying squirrels have decided that it's enough of a wilderness in there that they feel right at home, and we've decided that if we get struck by lightning and change our minds before there is no chance of either one of us producing a viable egg, we'll buy more crap.  Most of it was hand-me-downs and tag sale stuff anyway.  And lord help me, we wouldn't need two of everything anyway.  So, slowly, but surely, I'm on the decluttering bandwagon too.  More slowly than surely, but I am really ready to say goodbye to the charming Hanna Andersson clothes I got for next to nothing and the enormous stash of cloth diapers that are actually worth some money.  Imagine.
• Anyway, man it's late and I have to be sentient at not one but two jobs tomorrow.  So I'll do some minimal linking and go to bed.

Have a random Thursday.

The Week in Review

I'm back, and we seem to have survived the experience, though some of us only barely.  I managed to do reasonably well with the giant family reunion, including the following highlights:

• Knitting hysterically, yet pointlessly, on my still-unfinished birch shawl in hopes of wearing it to the party, even though Kim told me hers was only moderately loosely knit and still she ran out of yarn.  Despite the fact that I went down two needle sizes, mine is really loose.  I'm not out yet, but I can see it's inevitable.  That's when I gave up.  Well, also we had to leave for the party.  My Diamond Fantasy Shawl made an appearance instead.  It's sad when a handspun lace shawl starts feeling like a schmata.  I need to reblock it.  I can practically tie the ends in a bow, they're so stretched out.
• The wild guest chase, in which guests are directed to arrive at a remote cabin down a steep dirt road with very limited parking, at which point we, the younger generation, are told to send them to a different remote location down another dirt road several miles away, which involves making a 42-point turn and probably hitting the porch in the process of getting out of the already-full driveway.  At the other remote location they will be served cocktails, in preparation to go into town to search for parking and get on a boat and be served....cocktails.  It should be clear that the cocktail logic is the only part of this setup that is entirely sound.
• Experiencing the Joy of Cousins, in which Henry and Eleanor idolize and worship their older cousins, while attempting to stage a WWF event with their younger cousin, and generally having one of those normal, healthy, fabulous extended family experiences where everyone is together and the majority of people are Not Drunk (okay, when the children are awake), and you know, they're family.  This is a foreign concept to this only child adult child of adult children of alcoholics.  I think this is what they're talking about when they say "creating memories."  Who knew?  Someday they'll be the ones telling dirty jokes out on the porch while we drive them crazy with overcomplicated travel plans and gigantic family parties.  I can't freakin' wait.
• Being asked, in all seriousness, if Henry can have "something to stand on so I can get jiggy."  When I suggested he get jiggy while standing on the floor, he informed me that this was not an acceptable solution.  Clearly, my extreme non-coolness has already begun.
• Upon relating this story, being given the suggestion by cousin Sean (I just know this guy has a blog--I just have to find it.  He's, I don't know, I can just tell) that perhaps Henry's new nickname should be h. diddy.  I admit I agreed, but Henry vetoed it out of hand.
• Eleanor looking WAY, WAY too grown up, first in the car while talking on the cell phone, and second while wearing a SHRUG to the party.  I know.  I had nothing to do with it.  She loves it.  She even wore it to bed one night.  Photos below.
• On the same theme, watching my kids grow up BEFORE MY EYES, with Eleanor giving me long and complex explanations of every play scenario and situation.  Why, why, oh, why does it go from these completely civilized moments to people whacking each other and throwing themselves on the ground because the color of their cup is wrong?  I know, it's growing pains, but I can see the age of civilization off in the misty distance, but we have to climb the mountain  of THREE-AND-A-HALF first and sometimes...it is steep.
• Experiencing the actual party, which I actually enjoyed heartily (Eleanor piped up when I mentioned this at dinner tonight "yes, I did too"--this was just before she laughed hysterically at Henry saying "poopyhead").  I was sure to take the recommended dose of gin & tonic just as the party began, and was fully prepared for what came.
• Having two (out of a grand total of two) cars have major problems necessitating immediate repair this week, including Rhys' car's brakes going out as I went over a mountain last weekend, and my car breaking down on Rhys an hour away from the dealership, the only place that could fix this problem.  We worked it all out with a surprising minimum of difficulty, and everyone is home safe and sound.
• Finally, a trip to Patternworks, at which I shot my wad, then a wee trip into the yarn store by the market, at which I was forced to buy yarn for sweaters for both children, and finally dropping by The Fiber Studio on my way home , and being followed home by some mooritt NZ wool, maybe a corrie cross.

Sick of listening to me babble?  Me too.  Here are pictures:

Eleanor, 3 going on 16.

Henry putting the finishing touches on his first real lego creation.  I look forward to years of stepping on lego pieces with bare feet in the dark.  I suspect this is how most children learn curse words.

"No, duck, come back here!  I SPECIFICALLY came out here to play with you!  You were sitting on the dock and when I came to play, you left!  What's that about?  C'mon!  C'mon back!"  I think he almost convinced the duck.  Almost.

When in Rome, you know.  The kids ordered their own Shirley Temples at the bar.  My BIL got me the G&T.  Everybody's happy.  Note the fashion statements.  Henry got his charming cowboy hat (doffed, since I insisted that he always look up and if there was a roof, take it off) from his cousin in Wyoming.

"H. Diddy?  I think not.  Call me Hank."

"Jiggy?  Why, yes, I think I will get jiggy."  Note the handmade bracelet created and gifted by almost-six-year-old Wyoming cousin.  Will. Never. Be. Taken. Off.

Fiber?  Why yes, I believe I did mention Patternworks, home of the Wall o' Koigu.  Let's peek in the bag.

Is there a 12-step program for this?  Yeah, I know about this, but I mean one that won't just make it worse?  Like any morning after, I'm too  ashamed to show you more.  Let's just say I have a lot of socks in my future.

My debauchery also included fleece, when the "by chance" Sunday hours at The Fiber Studio actually turned out to be happening.  I don't know about you, but despite living near many fiber farms, I don't just get to pick up a raw fleece at the corner store.  Luckily, this was only a pound of raw fleece, the mooritt corrie(?) cross from NZ.  The label just said "mooritt," and the owner didn't have details.  Still, I came right home and washed my little heart out, and now I have nice clean fiber.

I'm still pretty lame at identifying a wool breed by sight, so tell me if you think it's something else.  I thought maybe Romney, but it's too soft and short based on the pics in In Sheep's Clothing, but who knows, maybe a lamb fleece?  I am now desperate for a set of English combs, and I don't think I can wait to order from Canada.  Any objections to the Indigo Hound Five Pitch combs, which can get here in time for my fiber orgy family vacation with Sara?  Speak now, or forever...oh, I don't know.  I do wish I didn't have such a good ear for what wool is saying to me.  This wool refuses to be carded, drum or hand.  It might consent to flick carding, but only under protest.  Yes, the wool's imaginary voice is bossing me around.  What's your point?  I may also be picking up a few icelandic lamb fleeces for Sara (really, they're for Sara, swear--I might buy a few ounces from her...you know, to help out) from Barbara at Jager Farm this week.  But it doesn't really happen *all* that often.  And I'm just being helpful.  Aren't I a good friend?  I know.

Finally, HEN is settling into her new home. 

I think she's happy, and who wouldn't be?  She's starting out with cormo/silk roving from Alice Field.

Marcy has officially decided that the wheel's name is Hróðþjóð Eðný Niðbjörg, but consents to Henny Penny "for the sake of the children."  The fact that neither one of us wants to even attempt to pronounce that has nothing to do with it.

Work remains insane, and I'm only telling you this to apologize for the brain dump here, and to apologize in advance for infrequent blogging.  I'm hoping that Sara and I will be doing some remote blogging from vacation next week (and not too much remote working, sigh), and I am very far behind on blog reading.  I remain optimistic that the fever pitch will tone down at some point.

Nighty night.

If it's Random, it Must Be Wednesday

Well hello, random readers!  The poor blog has not been getting its allotted time lately.  I have had to ration the amount of time I pour into the time suck (satisfying, interesting, edifying, fun, but yes, a time suck) that is blogging and blog-reading.  I've been *gasp* trying to be productive.  And not with wool.  I know.

To wit:

• This past weekend was a sales tax holiday in Massachusetts, and we bought a shitload of crap some nice stuff we'd been planning on getting.  We now have an actual entertainment center that is far less likely to kill our children than the setup we had before for the TV (it's a small one that cost $125 ten years ago, but it still weighs enough to do some damage if it fell on someones head).  I put the new one together and rearranged the wires behind so that all the video stuff actually connects to each other.  Brain?  Strained.
• For example: "Step T: Attach part ZZ to part B with half-cam phillips round-headed 6/17" screw bolts and hex-phillips side-allen cam wrench (not provided), being careful not to overtighten.  Press corners with thumb and whistle dixie while turning around three times, then turn on side and attach spacer (part KM) to inner molding installed in step Q.  What?  You didn't leave room for the spacer in part Q?  YOU IDIOT!  We told you to read the directions from the beginning before starting!  HAHA!  Bet you sometimes skip your gauge swatches too.  Suckah."  Those people who write the assembly instructions should maybe have anger management classes at break time.  I'm just saying.
• Speaking of anger management, I haven't mentioned the crazy neighbor situation in a while, but it remains no less crazy.  So we're all outside and the kids are playing with the hose.  Crazy John (who, it turns out, is actually Crazy Bob; I've only lived here six years, who could expect me to get the crazy neighbors' names right?) stops by to tell us there's a bear in the neighborhood.  This falls squarely in the category of Not News, as we live next to a wetland and we have plenty of wild friends in the 'hood.  The bears in the 'hood are black bears, and they're really not aggressive unless you mess with them.  Which we don't.  So no problem.  So Crazy Bob gestures to the kids and says "You know, I don't normally hunt bear because the meat is too smelly, but I'm going to get a license this year to get that bear.  For your kids.  You know."  And I'm thinking of saying "thanks anyway, but the kids kind of prefer macaroni and cheese" but I figure that sarcasm will probably be lost on Crazy Bob.  So we start talking to him about how black bears aren't aggressive and how we're really not worried and how frankly the coyotes are more of a concern to us, and he's all talking about tracking them in different weather and how he found their den up by the quarry and then it dawns on me.  How the hell does the guy who (rumor has it) had a restraining order against him because of threats to his neighbor's CHILD (disabled child, I might add, son of the sister in the WT house) have a freakin' gun?  And I gotta tell you, but I'm a hell of a lot more worried about people shooting rifles in my backyard than I am about some bear who is just minding his own business, snacking in dumpsters.  God bless America, dude.  Sheeyot.  I should say that I'm not really worried about Crazy Bob going postal, at least not Chez Mama, since his craziness seems to be entirely focused on the WT house.  But you know, restraining order?  Seems like a good time to take away the firearms.  I'm just saying.
• Back to the tax holiday.  I also purchased a bunch of Organizing Plastic Containers, in order to Organize the Wool Stash, which is to say Place It In Containers, since true organization would probably involve finishing things.  Now the big pile next to my couch is in a handsome plastic rolling cart.  Okay, and a few tote bags.  And a couple of plastic baskets.  I'm trying, at least.
• In fact, I did actually finish something.  Sadly, the camera is with Rhys, being pressed into the service of photographing short people afrolic in the lake, so no photos.  But imagine two socks like this one, stripes actually mostly matching.  There.  Hooray.
• I have this fantasy that I will finish Birch by the party on Saturday night.  I have 150 stitches on the needles.  I know, not bloody likely.  Will bring backup shawl.  Sigh.
• Most importantly, HEN is here.  Wow, she's lovely.  Very nice, quite old, great condition (needs new leathers and has a nick and a scratch here and there, but I think that just adds to her charm), and spins wonderfully, even with the old worn-out leathers.  She rattles a bit due to the leathers being worn to the point where the opening is about twice as big as it needs to be.  But I love her.  I think she's found a good home.  Yay.
• Marcy came by to inspect her last night.  We're trying to figure out her name.  I really feel like she should be called Henny Penny, but Marcy points out, rightly, that she's the one who says the sky is falling.  She wants me to call her something like Hildebjorn.  Somewhere in between, perhaps.
• I need to hit the road, and I know linking is going to take a bit of time, so I guess I'll leave it at that.  Have a great week, everyone!

Knit Club

The first rule of knit club is you do not talk about knit club.

Apologies to the 50 other knitbloggers who undoubtedly thought of that one before me.  I amuse myself, at least.

Yesterday morning I arranged for dear partner ("it would HELP if you gave me a little more notice") to pick the kids up from preschool, packed up a big pile of needles and variegated yarn, some books with good introductory illustrations, and trotted off to work, ready to go to the first knitting night at the kids' preschool.

At six, it was me and Jessica, the other organizer.  Same thing at seven.  Eight, it was just us.  At nine, we were knitting and chatting and having a blast.  The two of us.

So I guess all that worry about having to teach more than one person at a time was for naught, huh?  I didn't actually have to teach anyone.  I did show Jessica how to drop a stitch to correct a mistake, but, well, that's it.  There were a handful of people who wanted to come but couldn't make it that night.  I suppose working parents of small children aren't the most available group of people, huh?

It was actually great, though.  I've known Jessica for almost two years, since she started as a teacher in the room my kids were in.  She's awesome, and it was nice to sit and knit and get to know her better.  We traded lots of gossip, talked politics, and told stories about our families and neighborhoods.

A great start.  And a night out for me, so I'm not complaining.

As requested, here's the Brown Sugar & Butter ice cream recipe.

1 tbsp butter
1/3 cup light brown sugar
2 eggs
2 tbsp white sugar
1 3/4 cups heavy cream
1 cup milk
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 tsp vanilla (optional)
Ice cream maker

Make your ice cream base by beating the eggs and white sugar together, then adding the 1 3/4 cups of cream and milk and beating until frothy.  Or use your own groovy ice cream base.  Just reduce the sugar somewhat.

Saute the butter and sugar until sugar begins to melt.  It should be syrupy but not completely liquid, maybe 5 minutes on high heat.  Stir constantly to prevent the butter from scorching.  Remove from heat, allow to cool for 3 minutes, then stir the 1/4 cup of cream into the sugar mixture quickly, to dilute it.  What you want to avoid is having the sugar mixture turn into candy chunks, you want to make a thick sauce here.

You can use more sugar if you want; I like to preserve the intense creamy taste by going easy on the sugar.  You can also toss in some vanilla extract if you're so inclined.  Go with your heart.  Your inner voice will tell you what's right here.  Trust yourself.

Add the sugar mixture to the base, let it cool down in the refrigerator for a few hours, then pour it into the ice cream maker (I make everything at naptime, then leave it in the fridge until I finally put it in the ice cream maker at dinner time).

Eat.  Try not to stab family members in pursuit of seconds.  Refrain from thinking about congestive heart failure.  Repeat.

Better go to work. 

Knit on, with ice cream and caffeine, through all crises.

Or something.

Random, Tardy

So, swear to gawd, it's really still Wednesday.  Bloglines probably won't notice this post until sometime in September, but truly, where I am, there's still (just) over an hour left in Wednesday.  At my old job (the crazy consulting job) I used to have a Dilbert cartoon on my door that had the pointy-haired boss saying "Just wait until they realize Thursday isn't 'early next week.'"  That was my motto.   Just under the wire.  Yup.

So without further ado:

• I promised stuff about bird flu.  Part of me really wants to think this is what I like to call (aptly in this case) chicken littleism.  You know, "omg, the sky is falling, buy canned goods and duct tape" type stuff.  I felt that way about the whole catastrophic Y2K stuff (we just hoarded beer for that night).  But you know, this all kind of makes sense.  I just hope we're better protected than in 1918.  I do think we'll be okay, here in this semi-rural temperate climate with good access to health care.  But man, that's some scary ol crapola.
• My coworker announced her pregnancy today at job 1 (I need to designate them at this point: this is the old job, where I've been for 7 years).  They may need a leave replacement.  Job 2 has a lot going on too, through the year.  I'm just a girl who can't say no, apparently.  When I'm worried about being overbooked next March, it's time to start saying no.  No one has asked yet, maybe they won't.  Yah...wait, I mean NO.  NONONONONO.  How was that?
• In related news, I was told today that mamas shouldn't go to work so much or go to so many meetings.  Girl, I so hear you.  Preschool will be going from 4 to 3 days a week starting week after next (and we'll be gone next week).  So hopefully that's two individuals I'll be saying yes to a bit more.
• I'm becoming a bit of a sock slut.  I have three pairs of socks on the needles.  Okay, four if you count the spearfish socks.  Okay, five if you count the broadripples.  Shut up.  Like I was saying I'm having fun with the socks.  Toe up?  V. cool.  PGR's Dream Socks?  V. interesting.  Afterthought heel?  Yeah baby.  I've made a sock or two before, but I haven't really explored the options.  The stripes are almost done.  Just have to finish that afterthought heel.  It's a little too procrastinatable, since I was done with all but the heel and toe since, um, last weekend.
• Birch is sadly neglected, though I did knit a bit in NH.  I kind of want to knit Hyrna Hergorbar, but for some strange reason, I'm not doing it.  It's like I will forget about Birch if I knit it.  So I don't knit Birch; instead I knit socks.  This is why my life is so scattered.
• I need to do a finishing fest.  There's too much languishing right now.  I'll start with the stripey socks, then Birch, then Hyrna Hergorbar (I'm into the second part of the pattern), then FBS.  Subject to change without notice.
• Yesterday, we did an outdoor bath.  The hose, a little soap, some shampoo, and the yard.  Why didn't I do this before?  They can splash all they want, and they think it's the coolest thing since sliced bread.  Sweet.
• The other score I didn't mention from the fair was an ice cream maker.  It's just like one my housemate had in college, and I'm loving it.  My weight is already going in a very wrong direction, but this is a creative challenge I can't walk away from.  Herrells, the best ice cream shop in town, has a flavor called "Burnt Sugar and Butter" that rocks my world.  I tried to recreate it and came up with something very yummy: caramelized brown sugar and butter ice cream.  Oh yeah.  So I'm buying heavy cream by the quart.  I need to get on that whole "Couch to 5K" thing.
• Anyway, that's quite enough.  I'm a wee bit pooped, so I'll do the linkage thing tomorrow.  Hopefully. 

Happy random day to you.

I'm Back, and August is Kicking My Ass

I've returned from my lakeside adventure (part one, at least), koiguless and overwhelmed.  There was no trip to Patternworks--the Kate Winslet thing was but a fantasy.  Apparently Center Harbor is quite far even by boat, and is a choppy ride at best.  No one was volunteering to take me, and I don't particularly relish the whole speedboat thing in choppy waters anyway.  I was tempted to get someone to take a picture of me at the prow with my DPNs, but it was not to happen.

I felt okay about the Patternworks thing for two reasons.  The first, and most important, being not that I already have enough yarn (which, while true by any normal standards, is not a good reason at all), but that I got to go to the hospital fair instead, and got to have Rhys wangle the kids (including our 2-year-old nephew), while I searched for copper pots for natural dyeing and vintage knitting patterns.  Scratch on the first, though I did get a couple of copper jello molds for a buck apiece--each will hold about a skein; and major score on the vintage patterns.  I'll do some scanning when I have time, but there's so much that I want to make, plus major inspiration.  Bear Brand, Spinnerin, Jack Frost...good stuff.  It's all in sizes 12-14-16 and sometimes 18, but it turns out that back in the day, size 12 had a 25" waist and a 32" bust.  Mostly it's just fascinating for inspiration.  I got a big pile of them for $8--they were 25 cents each.  So that made me feel better about the no koigu/no Kate Winslet thing.

We're going back next week for a big family party that is pretty much making everyone mad at each other, costing a lot of money, and causing great stress (what fun!), so I'll escape to Patternworks then.  By gawd.

There were some very fun moments, and swimming in the lake was dreamy, but the kids were cranky, and everyone seemed to have some major stressor that was getting to them--Rhys' stepfather just lost a big election in the organization he's involved in, while her mom won a seat on the board, and it's kind of his gig so now he'll be tagging along with her instead of vice versa.  Stepsister-in-law just had baby #2 and that's stressful in itself but then there are money issues and blah blah blah.  And stepbrother-in-law's girlfriend didn't come at the last minute because her grandmother was dying, and then stepbrother-in-law left Sunday to be with his girlfriend because her grandmother *did* die Saturday night.

Sigh.

And our basement room was damp and I'm allergic to very little but I am allergic to mold.  So, not a lot of sleep.

Sounds like a relaxing vacation, huh?

And I'll tell ya, this was the low-stress one.  Next week half the family is descending on this same tiny house for an anniversary party on a boat, one for which too much food was ordered from the caterers because too few people RSVPed (and the fallout from that?  Lordy.)  We will be staying in rental cabin somewhat removed from the insanity, but I have no illusions.  I'm going to volunteer to hang with the kids in the cabin while Rhys catches up with her visiting far-flung siblings.  And when cocktail hour comes (as it always does, at 5 SHARP), I will not demur.  How's that for a coping plan?

Happily, I do have a real vacation planned at the end of the month--we're going to Lake Placid with Sara and family, thank gawd.  They may even bring babysitting help so we can, you know, eat a meal that doesn't involve repeating the phrase "sit in your seat" 5,000 times.  What a concept, huh?  My various employers will just have to cope with my absence that week.  There will even be spinning and probably dyeing.  Like I said, thank gawd.

The whole work thing is kind of interesting, and my resolve may be starting to crumble and I might actually take a part-time job at one of the gigs I'm doing now.  There is much to be revealed before anything happens, but I'm starting to think that having a regular employer, especially one 2 miles from home, might have some good points.  We shall see.

Knitting?  The second striped sock needs an afterthought heel and 6 stitches kitchenered.  Birch plods slowly along.  I've cast on and knit an inch or two of some Sockotta I got at the KSH 50% off place (which, though I can't imagine it's still there, is called Knit, Purl, and Beyond in Wolfeboro, just next to DeVylder's market, and though I bought up all the wine there was a fair amount of light brown left over, as well as more CTH sock yarn).  No pictures.  Sorry.  No spinning either.  And the HEN wheel was shipped yesterday.  Hopefully that will inspire me.  I think some sleep deprivation is catching up with me.  Good timing.  Not.

Like I said, I'll be scarce for a while, but I'll be sure to post pics when the wheel comes.  And tomorrow is Random Wednesday, is it not?  Can't miss that.  See you then.  I already know I'll be talking about bird flu.  Freakin' blogs freaking me out about things completely out of my control.  I'm sure you'll thank me for those links.  Sigh.  Chicken little, so to speak.

Until tomorrow, then...ciao baby.

Lakeside Drive-by

I'm on vacation (of sorts) with stone age computer access, yet, computer access it is.

I just had a few things to blog about to ensure that nobody thinks my fiber obsession is waning in the face of too much work (I finished the project for my Monday deadline before I left, wahoo!).

First: Somehow I managed to leave with only three sock needles (and unlike Stephanie, I can't blame homeland security, having driven here).  So I had to go to the yarn store.  Now I'm somewhat near Patternworks--actually quite near as the crow flies--but it's about 40 minutes to drive.  I'm going to see if someone who knows how to drive the boat will take me tomorrow or Saturday, since it's a straight shot across the lake.  And I just like the idea of standing at the prow of a boat, the wind blowing my hair, my eyes shaded from the sun as I scan the horizon in search of Koigu.

Or something like that.

Anyway, I needed a stupid bamboo DPN, and there's a little yarn store here in town, next to the market, so I generously volunteered to drive my MIL to the market and--OOPS--just popped in.

Kidsilk Haze, 50% off.

Oops.

So, I walk out with 10 balls (9 in the wine color, whatever froofy name Rowan gave it, one in the pearly gray) of KSH, 1 skein of CTH sock yarn (also 50% off) and a full-price ball of sockotta because...oh, I don't know why.  Oh yeah, and my DPNs.  I suppose, now, my quest for Koigu is not so urgent.  But I still want to get all Kate Winslet with the sock yarn and Lake Winnepesaukee.

So now I can make the Enchanted Lace Jacket, that is, if I ever recover from Birch and decide I don't hate this yarn.  Or I can give it all away.  But I'll probably let some of it age in the stash (like a fine wine...) until I have forgotten its blindness-inducing fineness and its slippery, non-resilient evil ways.  But this is two times out of two that, when presented with KSH, I have shown an utter and complete lack of self-control.  I suppose I should accept that I am powerless.  That's the first step, right?

The other thing that's floating my fiber-obsessed boat?  Lichens, baby.  Every-freakin-where.  I asked my friend, master natural dyer Heidi, how to get started with wildcrafted natural dyes.  She told me a few things and then said that lichens were supposed to be great, but they don't get much in the way of lichens around the San Diego area.  I know they grow incredibly slowly (like a mm every 5 years), so you have to be really careful harvesting them, but without even trying, I've already collected an ounce or two just off the ground.  There's also a pile of firewood cut up out back that's covered with the stuff.  Those are just going to get burned up, so no worries there.  So I think I'm going to be fermenting me some lichens for dyeing wool.  I tried surfing a bit last night to identify the lichens, but they all look the same to me, so I'm just going to take my chances.  I'm hoping for purple, but I'll take pink.

Better go.  The sun is finally out and it's time to wake Henry up from his nap.  Plus, FIL just showed up and complained that he's been "trying to call for three hours."

Ah, vacation with the in-laws.  And speaking of fungus, you wouldn't believe the basement we're "sleeping" in.  But hey, there's a lake, there's sun, and there's beer if I understand correctly (and what is a vacation with WASPs without copious supplies of liquor)?

Further updates as obscene yarn scores and natural dye collecting triumphs warrant.

Blog??? What blog???

Just to warn you, this is me in stress-puppy mode.  I hate that, but sometimes, it has to be done.  I am going on vacation tomorrow, big deadline at one job, clients for freelance jobs getting busy, and I'm trying not to think about the other job too much.

The wool is keeping me sane, as always.  Well, as close to sane as I get these days.

First, a blanket square for Kerstin's SIL.  May it remind her of how many people's hearts are entwined with hers, hoping to hold it together a little while it heals.

This is Motley.  I even like how it knits up.  I hope it helps keep her warm.

Saturday was sidewalk sales here in town, and my mom was in town so we had to go shoe shopping.  I got the perfect shoes for showing off handknit socks (on double discount, I might add), but I don't have any sock yarn that really goes with the funky red of the shoes (okay, I don't have much).  So the yarn store was having a sidewalk sale too, and a ball of Meilenweit Fun & Stripes had to come home with me.

Can I just tell you that after knitting lace shawls, socks go REALLY quickly?  It's true.  By Monday night, I had one down, and the second is already on its way.

Henry served as spokesmodel, once again:

Yes, I am brave to let a three-year-old hold my sock on DPNs.  Living dangerously, that's me.  Luckily, Henry loves the camera, so he knows how to keep the limelight.  Though he obviously moves significantly faster than the shutter.  It's a miracle I can even see him most of the time.  Check out my first afterthought heel.  Love it.  I don't know if I'll ever make another regular heel again.

Since Eleanor, who doesn't seek the limelight like Henry, hasn't been featured on the blog as much as her brother lately, here's a gratuitous pic just for fun:

Gorgeous, huh?  And no shortage of personality 'round these parts, that's for sure.

So knitting and spinning continue to keep me sane, which, my friend, is no small feat these days.  If I owe you an email, which I probably do, please accept my apology.  Things have gotten away from me a bit.  Right now I'm trying to catch up with income-producing activities, bringing my computer on vacation with me, sigh.  I may be rather scarce in blogland over the next few weeks, but I'm hoping to clear out my calendar a bit, maybe stash a little cash...just in time for Rhinebeck, baby.  Don't worry, the vacation won't be all work.  I think a side trip to Patternworks might be on the agenda.  Gotta get some koigu to match them there shoes, no?