"There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere . . . "
- Mansfield Park by Jane Austen
I've heard people speak of experiencing a "summer of sock" but I never really understood it.
I'm learning. This little guy will grow up to be a custom fit sock for my mom, knit from stash Lorna's Laces (stash! When was the last time I knit from stash?). I can't give you more vivid yarn details because I lost the bands long ago, but it has a palate of pinks and greens.
Luckily, Mom is in love with the colors, because I sure am not. While the hues are gorgeous on the skein, to me, the resulting fabric looks like melty cotton candy that's been dragged around the fairground on a hot August day by a rambunctious six year old boy. Which makes this sock a bit tough to knit, but considering I completed 3/4 of the sock in one day, I think I'll manage the rest.
Poor Charade is getting only a row of my attention per day right now. The Mom Sock is priority, as all good Mom Socks should be. I plowed through the heel while Mom was available for try-ons in order to get a perfect fit; now to rib then replicate sock two before returning my full focus to the Charade.
I've been very lax about the Mystery Stole prep, especially considering I intend to take it with me to Greece. I bought 4,000+ yards of School Products fine white silk that I've no way to skein, which has been giving me nightmares of late. It has collapsed in a tangle on my living room floor and I'm trying to ignore it. I blame Mom for conning me into that purchase (love you, Mom! Now come back and wind my yarn, please!)
I have 1200 yards of grey lace weight merino somewhere in the stash that I can't find. I plan to use beads, as prescribed, yet I've no beads at this time and I'm not sure where the most convenient beads might be located near my office and I'm too pressed for time to mosey far. Yeah, I'd say I'm relatively scattered regarding this project, which typically bodes well for the finished product. And vacation knitting always has that extra special flair.
2) Ripe blueberries are rolling over everything, but I ate them all and forgot to take photos.
3) I knit for a minute then asked Ben to put this sock on his foot.
He's quite the smartass sometimes.
4) Mama OSOH came for a visit this weekend; but she missed her 8:30am flight home this morning, so I guess she gets to keep on visiting until tomorrow.
5) I am considering knitting a pair of socks for her flight ~ at the rate we're going, I might be able to finish them both before she is airborne.
6) I still work.
7) Mountain ponds must be swum.
8) Cat snuggles.
In the meantime, let's consider it a good thing I never reached that Grecian hotel to make a reservation. Once I got around to reading the on-line reviews, I was fairly disgusted. Apparently the answering machine music would have been the highlight of our stay.
While I figure out a new hotel, go over and take my customized quiz to get warmed up for our journey.
I had a fun excursion with a contingent of Spiders at the Craft Fair last weekend; because Virginia dragged me to the Knit 1 raffle tent, I won a whole bag of exciting stuff. Some of it is delicious (knitting needles are always appreciated, since I've a tendency to lose/break/give them away; the book with beading "recipes" is delightful although who knows when I'll have the time); some of it...well I'm not sure what some of it is exactly. For instance, the purple punch that creates wee holes in things. Why? What purpose does it have in life? What needs those little holes? It sure is cute but I'm perplexed. A home ear piercing kit perhaps? But it's mine and I won it and that makes it an awesome little mystery devise, even if I use it to intricately perforate sandwich bread on those special occasions when decorated sandwich bread might be a nice touch (because we have those fancy sandwich bread occasions all the time at the OSOH chateaux). I actually had two in my bag, so I gave one to Cheryl. She isn't sure what to do with it either, but she is quite resourceful.
Other than my parcel of goodies, I left the craft fair empty handed. Okay, I bought two (expensive) little fabric remnants, but nothing else pried the money from my palms and the fabric isn't exactly worthy of a call-out photo. The notable dearth of yarn was a disappointment. The crystal frog and ladybug skeins I didn't buy last year haunted me and I had cash on hand to acquire them this time, but the little critters didn't make it this year.
I don't fare so well at these craft events. I rarely buy anything, or I'll make the effort to buy one token thing out of guilt due to the implied obligation I feel as a fellow crafty person.
Maybe I'm overwhelmed. Maybe I'm just inspired to go home and make all the stuff myself. Not that I actually do go home and make any of it. But I could. If I wanted. And if I didn't have things like my job getting in the way, sucking up my time.
The items that most caught my eye (the ones I cannot stop thinking about, if we're being honest) were the "book purses." I can't recall the vendor selling them. Maybe I blocked the name out of my mind due to the exorbitant prices ($85-$250 if I recall correctly). I'm torn regarding these little book purses.
My first reaction ~ that is so cool! Literature as a fashion statement! Must! Buy! Now!
My second reaction ~ sacrilege! Save the novels! Everyone step away from the classics!
The fact that I cannot stop thinking about these book/purses for an entire week means that I must have one. But not at craft fair prices ~ I'm saving my $$ for feta, ouzo and καλαμάρι (er, whatever that is). Or maybe strappy sandals (because I could always use more strappy sandals). Lucky for me (and extra-lucky for all those vendors I am about to encounter in Greece), I found littletutorials. My next undertaking is the procurement of an appropriate hardcover novel to murder flaysacrifice convert.
Rummaging through some photos last night (to distract myself from the flock of errant Cheetos milling around in the kitchen), I realized that I never, ever posted any pictures of the Peanut's blanket for you. I took this photo back when Sarah and Joy were in town, right before I finally got the completed blanket to Steph (with Lisa's help). It's a standard Mason-Dixon log cabin baby blanket knit from Elann Cotton Sonata that Amanda and I created on those good old size 3 circular needles. I think it has 12 or 13 skeins of yarn in there of four different neutral colors.
Thank you all for your wonderful reading suggestions! The poll is still open ~ I'll let you know over the next few days which book has been chosen.
I think we got stuck at Day Four, in Athens. I'm leaving us there for a while because, do you know what? I've had it with the planning ~ I am not even capable of booking a hotel so what's the point? I've caught myself humming the catchy Greek phone recording under my breath one too many times today. We're winging it, peeps.
No more schedules; it's Wednesday and I'd rather post cat pictures and it's my blog so there.
(yes, she's all naked again. It's summer-shave-the-cat season here in the City.)
See, it wasn't just the Baby Surprise Jacket torture prompting that disgruntled expression. Roxie always stares at you as though a dog just peed in her kibble and you are responsible.
Did you know that Pericles ordered construction of the Parthenon beginning in 447 BC? And that the structure was built on a prior foundation of an earlier temple dedicated to the goddess Athena? 447 BC - that's old. Roxie is old too, but even she is not that old.
She already suspects something amiss. This little girl can smell a vacation approaching and there begins the mischief vengeance. I think she has a touch of Death-Eater in her sometimes. Once the suitcases emerge, the game is done. It's all swishy tails and scorned litter boxes and cat vomit decorating the Manolos.
This is what she looks like while leaping onto the bed. Which can be very disconcerting at 3am. Especially if you aren't wearing your contacts when she lands claws-first on your face. The resulting pain and blood can be a little stunning, too, although these are nothing compared to the exciting rush you will feel when the howling and hissing begin as the other cat, who has just been dislodged from her snuggly spot underneath the tangle of your hair, joins the fun. After that, the night calms a bit, affording you a few moments to dab your wounds and morn the shredded pillow case while enjoying a background chorus of noisy kibble crunching and the occasional sensation of cold, damp noses cuddling against your neck.
The icy patty-paws I can deal with, but cat breath is less than comforting in the dead of night.
(And also, I will be mysterystoling. Don't ask me when, but I bet I can round up some stash yarn for the task.)