The Reality Lobe

I know there's much truth and brilliance in the whole study of the brain but I swear mine is wired a little differently. Read this to mean that I am aware that I am a total nut case and have no real desire/ability to change it. LOL. I think I have a 'sub-section' of the frontal lobe. You know, that's where your ability to do futile things like reasoning, problem solving, planning goes on. It is safe to say that my frontal lobe is on overload - needs new wiring, and may be shooting sparks and puffing thick clouds of black smoke out of it as we speak. I may have missed employing the frontal lobe when planning the last month. Let's see, a cross-country trek with oodles of yarn in tow for a week (aka: Sock Summit), a move of both farm and family (for which I conveniently forgot would include silly, trivial things, really, like PACKING AND UNPACKING). Dang, is that why there are big brown boxes still adorning every room in the house? And, I surely thought I had more power than I really do if I thought I could do both of those things whilst preparing for two more shows, being in the thick of garden canning, and keeping the shop, farm, schooling, and home life reasonably running. Oh, and laundry - because the beast doesn't slow down just because you're running around looking like a deer in the headlights.

It's like that lobe just gets overloaded but never really realizes that is happening. It has no alarm system and sends a message, "Houston, you are taking on too much and are waking up in the middle of the night panicking about all that you forgot to do yesterday and making notes on your bedside table about them for tomorrow - there may be a problem and, alas, it could have a solution!" No, this doesn't happen. And, when the wiring is overloaded, I just keep filling the 'to-do' baskets with a blissful ignorance to the probability factor - how much more CAN you do?

All the while, there is this hidden part of the lobe that is 'storing up' data to confront me with on the day(s) wherein the wiring issue becomes patently clear. Oh, I hate those days. They come on like normal days (thank the powers that be that ALL days begin with coffee or I think maybe I'd just crawl into a cave somewhere and whimper myself to death) but the reality lobe is slowly building juice to cause the most spectacular fireworks show as each and every wire outlet blows. Again, I bow humbly to those who make sure there is coffee in the world. Cream and sugar for those moments, even though I usually take it strong and black - life has to have rewards and simple pleasures, you know?

Among the scattered ruins of the 'plans' and 'ideas' and 'realities', still smoldering from the great appearance of the reality lobe, I do manage to find, again, the things that make me smile, put a little song in my soul, and wipe the memory clean ASAP so I'll have the ignorance+courage+tenacity to go at it all again:) Reality isn't so bad ALL THE TIME. Like this week. I failed miserably at the 'to do' list BUT, I also assumed that meant there was insufficient knitting. Not so. There was this pair of socks that I forgot to show you last week - knit from a new colorway I called 'Red Letter Year'.

You might remember that Thing 1 and I went to see this awesome lady in concert for her (Thing 1's) birthday this year. The show? Errr, it was only TOTALLY AWESOME. But this song, in particular, just about made me scream, laugh, cry, and yell, "Yeah!" over and over again. Okay, I did yell over and over again but, really, can you blame me? So, on the way home from the concert (yes it was dark and yes I was driving but the reality lobe is drained of power right now so - whut?) I slapped some post it notes on the dashboard and started scribbling down the colorway touches to 'Red Letter Year'. Something bold, something that doesn't apologize but humbling acknowledges that life is full of episodes wherein one finds one is 'f....ing up', and something that says that's okay as long as you learn from it, do better next time, and keep some love in your heart all the while.

Then there's this sock in progress project that got a great big happy face and scratch off the 'on-the-needles' list this week. A collaboration of two EKF colorways: Meditation and Johny Jump Ups with a simple quilt stitch worked in on the rows where the color changes. It was super easy - mostly stockinette stitch, and the happy play of stripes and dark purples against light, springy joy just thrilled me beyond what I'm willing to describe or discuss in public. It's the little things, really, that sometimes breathe the magic fairy dust of forgetting the reality lobe explosions and get you back up and running again.

Now, should I finish the two sweaters on the needles or cast on another sock project? Hmmmmm.....reaches for the reality lobe switch with an evil grin and shuts it right off.....

Socks Matter

They really do, you know....

I didn't know how important socks were until I left my Southern home and moved to the Northeast - where winter is a reality that remains in stark contrast to anything I can decently describe. Let's just say that you learn quickly the value of layers and the treachery of exposed feet. I know you wouldn't be silly enough to do this but- someone I know once thought she could just jot out to the mailbox in thin socks and no shoes on 2 ft of snow pack. I know, she's learned, though, so let's not laugh at her for too long. (thanks)

So, the idea of a very warm sock becomes immediately appealing to those of us who have cold feet for nearly 6 months of every year but - do you think that would make me into a sock knitter? NOOOOOOOO! I swore I'd never, ever, EVER knit socks and that, I am still convinced, is why I perpetually linger in the pile of socks in progress that is my studio/knitting baskets/purse - LOL. I am serving my time for being disrespectful to the sock. Shhhh...don't remind anyone I'm here - I hope they don't decide to let me out:)

Now that I've been bitten - and waited for a few years to see if it would 'go away', I'm shamelessly loving every tiny stitch on my size '0' dpns. I try to remember my days as a non-sock knitter. There are different levels of non-sock knitting. There are those who are completely ignorant to the virtues of sock knitting by no fault of their own. Maybe they live in a warm or hot climate and don't know that wool socks are not the only option for knitters and/or that wool socks are actually not hot to wear in warm weather because they 'breathe' and keep the feet rather dry and comfy. They've likely not experienced the pure joy that is sliding on a fresh pair of hand knit socks that 'hug' the feet and make you say 'ahhhh' when you walk around in them. They don't even fathom the possibilities of colors, textures, styles, and uniquely comfortable hand knit socks that are waiting to be born. Those poor souls are subjected to the rants of sock knitting cheers from fellow sock knitters. Some of them may have been 'gifted' with knitted socks or the random ball of yarn and needles in some crazed attempt to fill their personal bubbles with the scent of wool and, as my mind reasons, an immediate and powerful desire to knit socks immediately permeating their very beings. Sometimes it works....

Then there are the knitters who, like myself, just don't yet have the desire to knit socks. They love sweaters, scarves, even large lace shawls but they just haven't yet been bitten by the sock knitting fever. Those are my personal favorite non-sock knitters because they will, at the very least, ooh and ahh over pretty sock yarns and consider the sock you've knit. They also, let's face it, have the quickest potential to be turned on to sock knitting - hence my hoarding of every scrap of sock yarn I don't use just in case someone wants to swatch and try it - LOL.

There are also the 'why would I knit a sock when I can buy a whole pack for less than that at my box store?' non-sock knitters. Almost immediately upon being inducted into the sock knitting pool, I struggled not to growl and show fangs when someone said this to me in response to seeing me knitting socks. I just remind myself that these non-sock knitters have likely not had the experience of sliding a good hand knit sock on their feet, either. That a poly sock from a package cannot be compared to the give, stretch, and general ooooohhhhhh factor of a hand knit sock and that value is a personal concept - each of us having our own 'guidelines' for what that means. Over time, I've learned not to react - not to let the hackles rise and not to deviate from the pleasurable sport of sock knitting to try to defend it. Just trust me, it matters.

Obviously, I'm not the only one who thinks so. I'm heading out to Sock Summit after Thing 3's birthday tomorrow( HAPPY BIRTHDAY THING 3!) where there will be plenty of people who speak the language of the sock - I can't wait! If you're going to be there, come by and see us in Booth 226. I'll be doing some fun color card readings in the Color Me Crazy Booth on Friday a.m. as well - a whole weekend of nothing but sock loving fun! Yeah!

I haven't done a Great Giveaway in quite some time - and I've never missed a kiddo's birthday, so this one will be super easy - leave a Happy Birthday H in the comments for a drawing upon return from SS to enter yourself to win a skein of sock yarn!

Yeah, but, does she bobble?

I've come to the stage of freezing fingers in January in Maine that I'm back to contemplating the best options for finger warming. Thus, I've come to understand that my previous ignorance to the difference between 'knuck' and 'fingerless mitt'. I mean, practically speaking, I understand the difference. But, when choosing which to make, I've been quite nonchalant in the past sort of reasoning, "meh, why go to the trouble to knit fingers only half-way and quit?". Heh.

It turns out that the 'knuck' part of the knucks is really essential for me. Often, I need my fingers free and, sometimes (especially as we near lambing season) I have to touch things that I don't necessarily want to seep into the fingers of the gloves. For me, the perfect marriage is knucks in a fingering wgt yarn with some handspun, woolly mittens over them. That way, if I need my fingers free, I can take the mittens off, then put them back on to warm my cold fingers after the fact. The actual 'fingerless' mitts are my preferred hand ornament to sleep in. Yep, you heard me right. When you heat with wood and live in the wilds of Maine - it's a darn good idea to wear something on your head and hands when you sleep. It took almost a whole winter of tendinitis on my hand to figure out that it came from me trying to tuck my chilly hands under the pillow in some wonky way. For this, I like a ribbed fingerless mitt that is a bit long on the fingers.

So, I've got the knuck part done and now it's time to turn to the mittens, non? Only, I am continually struck with rash and violent mood swings that leave me drunk with the dream that I can knit all of my life and spin in my sleep. So, of course, I decided to knit these for the January Sockdown in the Sock Knitter's Anonymous on Ravelry. How could I pass it up, I ask you. I mean, there's this skein of 'Mardi Gras' that I saved for myself to knit and it just keeps calling to me. It sidled up to the red beads and they, together, warped my mind into NEEDING the beaded socks. Then, there's my modular vest which I'm gaining steam on every day. Of course, I'm starting to seriously spin the yarn for my own cable sweater design that I'm knitting for the Spinner Central Quarterly sweater spin along. And. in a spasmodic fit of web surfing in the wee hours of the night, I chanced upon this knit along and, of course, in my exhausted state of heroic delusion (loading the fires on a blustery cold night is so falsley invigorating that it really pumps the ego badly)decided, ah, what the heck? Clearly, I am afflicted with an incurable case of knitting fever.....

I created this little pattern (posted in its own listing so it can be printed without all my musings and blabbery) largely due to the fact that I lack the ability and/or attention span to follow one. The same thing happens to me in the kitchen but the happy result is that you end up with something that really suits your tastes - or something so hideous that you feed it to the pig and hate yourself for being such a flighty soul. In this case, I was very pleased. Loved the fit, loved the colors (that's my 'Hot Mama' colorway of purples, pale rose, and dark brown)and loved the little rib invention that I know has probably been done a billionty times but is new to me because I sort of made it as I went along.

What was fairly surprising to me, though, was finding out I bobble. Generally speaking, I'm not a bobble loving sort of chic. I love designs, textures, and even the random cable or colorwork but - ahem - bobbles? So, in the spirit I was caught up in at the moment (which is to say, adolescent sort of rebellion) I decided to try plugging in a bobble on the cuff. Awh, heck, I went wild and made it a double bobble - surely mocking myself for bobbling in the first place. Then, when I put them on to wear them, I was shocked at how pleasing it was to have a little ring of bobbles around the cuff - just a little bit of playful. Who knew? I bobble!

Life without an ego.....

So, the other night, we're all sitting around after dinner chatting a bit and the subject that my kids are still young and young at heart enough to discuss with inspired delight came up - what they most want to do with their lives. I look to the time that many friends of adult children have remarked about - when they may not be so free to just dream and imagine the limitless possibilities of the life before them - with a quick fleeting glance because I love so much to hear their ideas, hopes, and inspirations. All of us are writers, spinners, knitters, artists, and farmers. What each of us finds possible as an off-shoot of that is about as varied as an ice cream cake is to fresh, potent chili pepper.....there's nothing we don't think about.

So, all are talking about such things and the confidence in the room was building to an almost comical pace. I giggled and said, "whew! Is there enough room in here for all these egos?" when they started to best each other. I'm going to be the best writer. No, I am. But, I'm a better speller. Yeah, but I got more favorites on my story.... That sort of thing.

It was just a gentle way of reminding everyone to keep the spirit of dreaming and not go sitting down on the chair of someone else's dreams. So, I was a little shocked when one of my own children, a sweet and faithful child bubbling with brilliance, turns and looks at me and says, "yeah, except for you, mom. There's extra space because you barely even have one."

Rest assured, no harm was meant. A most innocent and also terribly funny conversation ensued with points made that even I (what'd you expect, I have no ego) couldn't dispute to substantiate the claim that I operate with a minimal and rather dysfunctional ego.

Since then, I've been wandering through the days, somehow muddling through without my ole ego. Though, when cracking a fortune cookie on our dinner out for Thing 3's birthday, it suggested that my outlook needed refreshing and that I would proceed without issue upon doing that. Another such debate ensued, this time between all three things, about how 'old mom's outlook is - she sure needs another one'. With laughs and giggles and all. I 'neverminded' it - instead, casting off the last toe on my 'Black Magic Woman' socks and mourning my dead ole outlook and missing ego.......the socks were quite a comfort!

Jelly

Such a vulgar sounding word for something so sweet and innocent, isn't it? The canning season is under way and the first to make its debut this year would be lemon balm and mint jellies. Prepared separately, of course. Actually, you could combine the two as well but since I made two batches, I kept them separate, not sure how the hubster would like jelly made from weeds and sometimes he's a downright freak about all things minty though I seem to have tweaked that with this little batch of sweet, slippery delight. There's not much bread around these days because when you cook with a wood stove and the dog days of summer are long and lingering with 80+% humidity, baking bread is really not a sound option. Still, some flat bread in a skillet (made on the grill outside) is an option, or some good whole grain store-bought bread when we have it. Last and most always over-looked and under-appreciated, the cracker makes a suitable substitute because, you know, when you've gone to the trouble to make some jelly, you're not willing to wait until the next trip into the grocery to taste it!

This year's batch came out delightful. I tripled the strength of the tea and the lemony flavor really packs a punch this time. Same with the mint - as I'm finding that if you follow the recipes that call for, say, 2-3 cups of chopped herbs, the full flavor of them gets so diluted that your jelly really ends up tasting like sweetened grass. Oh, and because I'm including the recipe below I just wanted to note that I don't make 'low sugar' jellies. Jams hold much more potential for 'tinkering' with the sugar content but jellies are a little more stubborn and runny jelly is not worth all of the work that goes into filling the jars. It's not like we eat it by the gallon and not everyday so I've chosen to ignore my inclination to lower the sugar and just make a well-set, delicious, organically home-grown jelly that will make people smile and try to get on my good side so they can find my hidden stash(wink). We settled for the only thing we had, toast and crackers to go with the delicious lunch we shared today. Peach slices and lemon balm jelly on crackers (toast for some who don't like crackers) with a mozzarella/pasta salad dressed with fresh basil/thyme/lemon juice/olive oil/crushed garlic salad. We were stuffed because, as we often do with our meals that are held around enjoying our own grown and preserved food stuffs, we ate like pigs! OInk, oink.

Here's the recipe I've created by merging some I've found in books and on-line, and then tweaking it to make a jelly we all love. You can use any herbs, a combo of herbs, or some hot peppers to make a minty jalapeno jelly (use vinegar in place of lemon juice then)
5 cups chopped and packed fresh herbs (I used lemon balm for batch 1 and mint for batch 2)
1 1/2 packages pectin powder (sure-jell or the ball brand both work fine for me)
5 cups sugar
1/2 cup lemon juice

Boil 6 cups of water and pour over the herbs, covering, and steep until water is cool. Strain liquid and squeeze the herbs to release all the flavor. Add lemon juice and pectin to herb tea and bring to a rolling boil, stirring regularly. Add sugar and return to boil, stirring, boil for a minute or two. Remove from heat, pour into jars and seal - water bath for 10 mns. at a boil.

As the Tour De Fleece is drawing to its end, I seem to have gained some spinning momentum yet again. The Esmaralda batts from last week practically FORCED themselves on me so I had to stay up late last night spinning them up. The peacock (last month's installment for the Happy Hooves Batt Club) was a dream to spin and I harvested near 400 yards of dk wgt yarn from the 5.6 ozs. of batts that I spun - that dazzling pile of beauty will be pooled with some of the other black batts I've been spinning (Black Magic Woman, Blue Jay, etc) and, someday, be made into this. The singles of 'Galadriel' and 'Gold Dust Woman' are so squishy and soft and I am grateful to have re-captured my ability to spin a solid, soft, and great single. I'd been warned that when you learn to spin sock and lace wgt. yarns, it is hard to go back to a smooth, lofty, healthy single. 'Pfft!,' I said to that. Only, it was true. It took much practice and a replenishing of my favorite singles fiber - Cotswold - in the stash to get me back on the singles wagon again.

I started a new pair of socks (I know, I hear the 'big deal' and loud sighs) but this one really is news- as I have wondered from my beloved dpn's to try the circular knitting method in Cat Bordhi's sock book. I fell in love with the Tibetan Long Socks. Funny thing is, I'd also fallen in love with the Chai yarn. I was all set to selfishly knit it for myself when SOMEONE with really big ole feet and a birthday the day after x-mas, mentioned ever so casually that he loves that colorway the best of all my hand-dyed sock yarns. Urgh (bangs head on cabinets) it is so hard to be good! But, good I will be. I look at it this way....the socks will be a gift....on loan. If I don't feel they are being properly loved, I will sneak them into my sock drawer and nary a word will be said about it, right? Bwah ha ha ha!

Over my fear of the finger!.

I've been afraid of the finger for too long. Seriously. Back when I was still wetting my feet at the whole knitting gig, one of the things I dreamed of making in vast quantities - every color imaginable, and comfortable as all get out was gloves. I despise having cold hands. Also, living on a farm AND having children has greatly increased the number of times I've had to touch something icky with a bare hand that made me long for many pairs of washable gloves. So, you know I tried it, doncha? Unfortunately, I had yet to be tamed by the rash gauge master. Sadly, I used some coveted handspun that was oober soft and luscious but not exactly an enduring grade of fiber for being worn on some busy and earthy farmer hands. They wore out in no time and I was so scarred by the experience of trying to understand the whole 'knitting fingers' concept, that I just wiped that old desire from my mind and adopted a fingerless mitt under big-arsed mittens approach. Still, that's alot of fumbling between mitt and mitten to have fingers to twist fencing back together before your knuckles freeze, or some other crazy thing like that. But, at this point and for years after that - I'd do just about anything to avoid the dreaded finger.

After my camping sock knitting bonanza, I needed to move back to something more home grown. Something about pulling weeds in the garden, getting back into the groove of the farm, and whimpering when I walked for two days after sleeping on the ground (I've resisted the air mattress camping leisure for so long it has really just come down to stubbornness at this point - I see it as a mark that, once crossed, will make me a sort of weakened camper. I see the logic is warped but have no intention of changing so just humor me and I won't whine about it again, honest) made me long for handspun. So, I pulled out the 'pumpkin juice' yarn that I'd made. You remember that, don't you? I sort of added two stripes to the mix, one in a spring green and one in a brown - though I plied that with a full bobbin of just pumpkin juice to produce a tweedy sort of color shift. I find that works well when you're not aiming to be exact in your striping but more 'eyeing' it.

I was all set to knit the mittens I'd intended but changed my mind, literally, at the last moment. No pattern to guide me and just a stroke of 'aha - that must be how the fingers are made' and, before I knew it, I was making so many fingers I had to stop myself because, after all, these gloves are for my darling child, not for the six-fingered man. Since the striping would be a little 'off' with finger knitting as opposed to mittens, I decided to just let the pool effect that would result stay wild and 'organic' - so the hands don't exactly match but that is all the better because, as you may know, there is no humiliation like having serious or matching accessories when you are 15, that time of life being intentionally themed around finding out just how unique one can manage to be and remain in the confines of what your mother will allow you to be seen in public wearing.

With that finger fear behind me, I looked forward to the week ahead with a sort of confidence that makes me so grateful to be a spinner and knitter. It's like having a little blast of feel-good energy in your pocket that you can take out when you need to be reminded of your ability to actually accomplish something. Then, to my big, goofy wide smile surprise (that would be my goofy smiling), Michelle at Greenwoman honored me by giving me the "Arte y Pico” award. I'll just steal her quote about it as I don't think I could say it any better: The “Arte y Pico” award was created to be given to bloggers who inspire others with their creative energy and their talents, whether it be writing or artwork in all medias. When you receive this award it is considered a “special honor”. Those who receive it are then supposed to choose at least 5 other blogs to honor with the award.

Like, WOW! Thanks so much, Greenwoman! I, too, feel squeezed to come up with only five blogs for my award giving but here I go:

Loribird is not only a super spinner and knitter but quite the fiber and culinary artist. In fact, this dear woman just exudes the beauty of things made with gifted hands. Which makes me kinda nervous, as she's the winner of this month's Great Giveaway so I have to create a magic ball worthy of such talent (see me sweating?).

Judy (aka the Spindling Scot) is beyond awesome, combining a true gift for spotting beauty in nature and it's gifts be they wood, stone, gems, fiber, and plants, as well as practically enchanting everything she makes with such a good, positive feeling that one can't be blamed if they become so attached to a diz that she made that anyone in her home found touching it is hissed at and scratched (uht, oh! must remember to work on being more human and less feline). I love many things about Judy so it is hard to stick just to the art award theme but in that regard, one of my favorite things about knowing and being loved by such a friend is that just when I'm ready to dig in my roots and stay in the same place (which doesn't leave much room to grow), Judy will do something that shakes me awake and reminds me to branch out as well to become a strong, old oak. Thanks, Judy!

Lorraine is a knitter/mum/woman that I wish to some day emulate. Firstly, the fact that this woman is living amongst teenagers and still has the mental fortitude to knit such beautiful lace (which requires counting and thinking and other brain functions that I am finding tend to be practically evaporated after refereeing one or two bouts of "mom, (insert the complaint of the day about fellow sibling who is also struggling through the teen years)". How she manages to create these beauties is mind-boggling to me....note to self - must.have.Guinevere!

Aija is such a fun spinner to follow! It seems we're always interested in similar things. In addition to being an oober talented fiber artist and making such gorgeous gemstone markers and accessories, she is a sort of singing voice of all things indie and artfully exciting with her 'etsy Friday' posts.

There's a new issue of Anticraft up - doncha know? I absolutely love this online magazine. It makes me laugh, sometimes it makes me blush (yes, I am still the blushing sort) and sometimes it makes me raise an eyebrow wide and look like a crusty ole dork.

In other news, I've been cussing at my sewing machine sewing some as well. You might recognize this fabric from the dress I made for Thing 1 - I had some extra left over and threw this skirt together because I needed to exercise some aggression. Why do I think I sew? I mean, I've watched sewing shows on PBS and have been around relatives that sew most of my life. None of them, save my grandma and she'd probably smack me with a spoon for divulging this here, screams or threatens their machine. My sewing days are exhausting, generally ending with the last seam being finished and something totally vulgar escaping my mouth. I love the hand-sewn item, and I desire to make them because I want to make what is in my head a reality - but the process is, uhm, kind of like warming up for a boxing match.

Not as easy as it seems.....

I've always enjoyed an eclectic range of friendships - I like so many different kinds of people. When I was in school, I never 'hung out' with just one group of people - more that I sort of migrated between many groups. It made the parties at my house most interesting! Well into adulthood, I will occasionally organize a get-together and always I have this moment of panic just before wherein I realize I haven't considered how these various groups of people will interact. Like the time I had a Halloween party for the kids and invited a farm family from down the road, some like-minded friends of ours, and some Quaker and Mennonite friends.

There was one group about which I held a biased opinion and, I am sad to say, struggled with that bias until just a few years ago - the cheerleaders. I tried to like them and, my grand mistake, tried to be friendly to them. Somehow, it escaped my sphere of reality to realize that I might have just stumbled onto some particularly evil and selfish people disguised as cheerleaders and I just assumed they were all the kind of friends who would snub you and then ask you for some grunt work favor at the same time.

Years later, whilst having some wine on a summer afternoon and watching our kids play in the yard, a friend of mine and I got to talking about the music/clothes/etc. that we liked in our youth. Somehow, my bias slipped out and said friend revealed she was, indeed, a cheerleader. I was stunned. How could she be? I mean, I liked her! We laughed about my predisposed mistrust of cheerleaders and she giggled, 'Well, you knowwwwwww, being a cheerleader isn't as easy as it looks. Not only do you have to be friends with exactly the kind of people you've described (your fellow cheer leading mates) but you have to be popular, and kind, and attractive before the watchful eyes of everyone at school.' I ruminated on that and decided two things: 1. Gawsh - I'm so glad I'm not a cheerleader and 2. see 1.

Recently, I joined a KAL on the best place in knitterdom called 'Summer of Socks'. The whole notion of sock knitting during the summer just thrills me - they are the perfect small, portable project year round but I find them particularly pleasing during the few but humid and hot months of summer. The problem with this knit-along is that, apparently, you have to be aware of when summer ACTUALLY begins. Which, I am but my reality is skewed by being a gardener in Maine. For the record, summer in Maine consists of three short months wherein it is safe to tend a garden without threat that frost will swoop in whist you sleep and wipe away all your vegetable delights. So, I hatched a stellar plan. I was going to knit the x-mas pair of socks for each chick in my clutch during the summer (as opposed to my normal gift knitting ritual which begins in late October and consists of two months of me knitting even in my sleep to barely pull off a portion of my lofty gifting goals). It was beautiful....perfect, even. I selected the 'right' yarn for each recipient and bravely cast on. Knit one sock of each pair in a week and then, deeply inspired, went back and read the rules. It seems that most people associate the season of summer with the summer solstice. And, I failed to notice that the rules stipulated that all socks had to be STARTED after June 21. Mine were started on the 15th through the 19th. Surely, I thought, this doesn't mean I'm disqualified. But, on the contrary, I watched a few excited knitters post their first socks of the summer and others swoop in and remind them that their entry didn't count because ravelry, as you know, documents the date you begin your project so even if you don't read the rules, there might be someone else to do it for you. Bummed is so not a word appropriate for describing my emotional state. None of my three pairs would qualify for the SOS KAL. Whimpers. We decided not to let it get us down. After all, there was the 'vacation sock' portion of the KAL that we could still participate in. We chose the new colorway 'Black Magic Woman' and waited for the camping trip to come so we could start knitting. And knitting happened!

Whist the other socks sat patiently in the basket (I didn't have the heart to leave them at home so they still got to come along on the trip, too), BMW sock vacationed her heart out. She went canoeing on the lake (note that Thing 3 is rowing for the first time and is not so thrilled to have to feel the boat swaying while I fish out the camera and then ask him to pose Ms. BMW).

She was positively stunning on the beach, even with the high tide that was so strong that it nearly carried Thing 2 and I away whilst she sat on the towel (except for the incident when a seagull came and sat on her while going through our pack and trying to fish out some food) having a grand time.

She was totally jazzed when we got back to the campsite and I fixed a cuppa the life elixir and sat down to knit. Only, then I realized how hard it would be to knit AND to cook dinner on the camp stove so had to dash off and feed the Things first. I pulled the discontented socks out and she told them all about the adventures. You know, I can be pretty naive but I just have to say - things SEEMED to be okay between them.

Lastly, she got to go on a whale watching cruise which I only hope she enjoyed. It was almost canceled due to a tropical storm but, instead, we braved the high tides and I along with a many other poor passengers on the cruise made good use of Dramamine and sic sacks. The trip out to sea was so awful that people couldn't even manage to walk on deck. I didn't take Ms. BMW out of her pouch for fear I might poke some one's eye out when the next big bump happened. Also, I was deep in my meditation on the virtues of Dramamine, sic sacks, and ginger ale for me and Thing 1. Things 2 and 3 were an interesting shade of green when we finally got out to sea but they made it through without a need for such tools.

Still, it was worth it. We've wanted to go whale watching for years and this year we made ourselves a little trade-off. We decided that the money we'd save by strictly cooking for ourselves and not buying drinks and treats out would be used, instead, to go on a very pricey tour and get sick with a bunch of strangers. The best part? Would have to be that we saw the very rare Humpback Whale in our Maine Gulf. Oh, he was beautiful! I wish I hadn't been so shaky and nauseated or I might have managed to get a shot of his beautiful tail but you can still see him, here.

Well, it turns out my friend was right. It really ain't easy being the cheerleader, ya know? Something just snapped in the rejected SOS socks and, upon return, this is the gruesome scene I was met with. Can you believe the rage that the Esmeralda sock in progress that I stopped working on to start the vacation sock is exhibiting? Stabbed with not one, but three dpn's at one time! In true form of a mass attack, even the new, yet to be knit socks sat off to the side with their genius inspiration, mocking poor Ms. BMW. She sits, waiting for her mate sock to be finished, and I just know how she's feeling. By now, hopefully, she's realized that life just can't always be fair and will be able to move on and not take it personally. Maybe she won't take as long to get over her biases as I did. Maybe she is a wise woman sock.

Thanks to all who wished us a great time (which we had) and who shared inspiration and joy for our new friend, Brego! I may have missed the importance of including my history of horse-womanship but it seems that as there has been some concern expressed about our horse care know-how, I just felt I should add that I did barrel race for four years and have been a rider since I was a wee one. It's just that when thing 3 was born, I found myself unable to ride and realized that I wouldn't be able to care for a horse properly and give it the attention and friendship that it needed for a while so I've been horse-free for some years. I certainly know enough to keep the sweet fellah cared for, though, and I've been able to fit and saddle a horse since I was about 7 yrs. old so no need to worry - he's in good, loving hands. We've been working on the 'getting attached' practices and I am just in awe of this guy's personality. So sweet. He leads and responds to the kids with absolute care and precision - which is so very important because I think the experience of loving my old crazy paint mare when I was in my turbulent teens radically altered my life in a good way. While so many others were experimenting is self-destruction, I was scooping out stalls and picking hooves and I thought that was so uncool. Yet, I cannot recollect so many of the names of those 'cool' and 'hip' friends I wanted to follow but, without hesitation, I can tell you that Prissy had one blue eye on the left and one brown on the right and could color you an exact replica of her paint spots though I have not seen a photo of her in some 22 years....that is love!

The Simple Sock......

Recently, I came to think that socks would be where I would try out all the fancy stitch patterns, kooky ideas, and general non-conformity. I began to feel compelled to 'do something original' with every pair I knit. I mean, don't get me wrong, it is a seemingly sane track to be on. Socks, indeed, ARE a fantastic place to play around with whatever style suits you and is within your ability.

Ahem, apparently my ability is searching for its inner youth and I seem to have lost any knitting prowess I had or pretended to have. What you see before you is a pair of finished socks. Yes, your eyes are right, they are grossly mis-matched in stitch pattern and one clearly looks as if it is a little odd. But, I tell you, they ARE FINISHED! I toyed with ripping sock one when the pattern was off. Actually, I ripped it twice and then toyed with ripping it a third time but seemed to be distracted by some maniacal desire I had to see the stockinette patterning of this yarn. I'm a little attached to this colorway . And, anytime I'm excited about a colorway (particularly when I toss a whole bunch of stuff out of my WIP basket and flippantly re-direct every stitch toward knitting the little morsel) I tend to not notice the obvious flaws.

Mind you, the ole brain is sure showing its mileage these days. One might think if I was so keen to see the stockinette portion of the sock, I might have knit the thing in stockinette instead of choosing a stitch pattern for the leg and then having to wait to knit the stockinette portion until the foot. Toe up, even though I rarely do it anymore, might also have been a wise option. But, we're not speaking of wisdom, here. It's about passion! All my favorite colors mushed together in a single sock and then there's that unit the things and I did on the Silk Road last year, and my love of all things eastern in terms of design, textiles, etc......I just wanted it so bad. And, worse, it's not like I even picked a difficult stitch pattern. It's a really easy stitch pattern, in fact. It's a freakin chevron stitch pattern. I could do it in my sleep! Except that, when you are self-taught (and it seems to be worse for those of us who said, 'rules? bah!!!' and refused to look up each and every term for their patterns and just started 'winging' it) there is always your sword, hidden neath the tall weeds of your seasoned experience, upon which you may fall and fall hard. It all comes down to my war against yarn overs.

I mean, I don't really have anything against yarn overs in places where they seem truly rational - such as lace. Isn't the whole object of lace to have holes in your knitting? But, in sock knitting land, holes are like a cattle prod coming at you - a panicky sort of thing. There's holes from laddering as you switch to the next dpn. Over time you defeat them but the first time they attack a pair of your cherished knit socks, you feel heartsick. And, yes, I am still clinging to my dpns even if it does make me a dork. Every time I think I might be ready to switch to a new method, the beautiful little wooden needles sing sweet little songs that say, 'don't leave us' and I just crack and forget about what seems an inevitable betrayal. There's holes in the instep when you first start knitting socks and don't realize how important the tension and direction of your decreases are to a solid gusset. There's holes at toes if you're casting off too loose, and also if you're toe-upping and have that turkish cast-on to find rhythm with. If you knit socks, you will come to fear and loathe holes. You might even make a concrete rule that resides deep in the cracks of your consciousness and refuses to accept the possibility that a yarn-over could be appropriate, EVER, in a sock. You could refuse to ever do it again. If you knit socks with lace patterns, you will surely be counted as a brave soul.

So, I have developed an 'anything but a danged yarn over' mentality when I knit socks. It works in the simple sock. My favorite recipe for a simple sock is to p1, k1 for four rows, then k3, p1 for 4-6 inches, then stockinette from the mid-calf to the ankle, heel and toes of your choosing. It makes a great, long sock that fits around the calf snugly, but comfortably. Somehow, even when I knew that the increase was supposed to be a yarn-over, I insisted on making 1 instead. It, of course, didn't work. So, you might guess I would rip it, start again and FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS AND MAKE IT A DANGED YARN OVER. No. I ripped it and assumed I had made some undetectable error and proceeded to knit it the same way, AGAIN! Of course it didn't work, you knew it wouldn't. But I, I was in genuine denial....which was promptly cured when I tried it the third time and realized that I am just a fool. I thought to turn around and go back once more but by then my knitting time was almost over and I was distraught. I put it away to think about it all.

Optimism springs eternal for me which I'm sure makes some people want to squash me. I picked it up the next day and decided that it couldn't possibly be as bad as I thought, proceeded to milk enough of my morning knitting time out to get past the heel and, you guessed it, still refused to yarn over. Might I mention that the knitting of the stockinette portion was every bit eye dazzling and thrilling as I'd anticipated and well worth the blunders? I love it. The color, the way it stretches and melts together....I'm thinking of doing it again. Only, this time I'm doing it is a simple sock pattern. The chevron patterning is awesome with this colorway and, as you can see on the second sock, when done right it is quite pleasing to the eye. I guess I needed only have faith that the yarn-over would not result in the end of the sock loving world but I clearly lacked it. Here you see proof - yarn-overs can happen and your socks will still live to tell the tale. This might be the same reason I've sworn that this yarn MUST be knit with size 1 dpn's instead of 2's. Lisa, if you're out there and you don't hate me already, you might now. I have since discovered that you can knit a perfectly good, hard-wearing sock on 2's which means, of course, that I lied to you. How you endure my friendship is a continual mystery. Break out your 2's and don't ever listen to my advice again! Unfortunately, I don't knit only for my eyes. There is the safety of my family members, the concept of a world without hostile crazy women creating mayhem throughout the land, and the practicality of knitting to actually wear what you make to be considered.

I wear my socks. I make them to be worn. So, I'm not about to rip this whole sock out and deny myself the pleasure of having a perfectly useful (as long as I never lift the left side of my skirt up when I walk up steps) pair of socks to wear - or of having a perfectly good reason to knit another pair of simple socks with The Silk Road.

But what I have come to is this - an agreement. I agree (yes, with myself, just join in and don't worry, you'll feel right at home with the insanity of it all momentarily) not to try to knit any of the gorgeous, delicate, pattern intense socks I have in my queue until the summer season is over. I have plenty of shawls, cardis, and other projects to work on that I can stretch my limited mental capacity to complete. For me, socks are meant to be therapy. And, as you've no doubt determined whilst strolling through my head today, I may be in need of some....or some more. Socks are the part of my day that aren't judgmental. They aren't there to ask me what I've accomplished, who needs what, or to mark the time. They are the thing I do when I have to wait (which I despise - think crabby ole cat hissing here) as they fit in my bag and are a sort of mini-meditation anywhere you go (provided you don't have to also haul along a chart, some holders, and the other gadgets that come with patterning. They are the thing I do when I wake (which is a gruesome process, I promise) and have the much needed cup of heavenly brown elixir. They're not there to challenge me, or to taunt me, they're there to just be that soothing, simple knit that keeps me content even if the day is about to go so awry that midnight will come before I crawl into bed, drooling on myself, and whimpering.

I of course, only really came to this wisdom AFTER the aforementioned disaster. It seems that my initial impulse to raise the bar EVEN HIGHER kicked right in, true to form. I set my sights on a honeybee pattern with faggoting because the Walker Treasury says it was a popular pattern in Slavic Knitting and I'm a sucker for anything that holds tradition in my own family tree so I settled in to knit a very daunting, complicated stitch. Did I swatch it first to make sure I understood it? Nah, just cast on a sock and keep on going. RIBBIT, RIBBIT. After the fourth time, I realized that to make the little bee body, I had been going about it all wrong. The optimism was in full force until after attempt 5 when I realized (cuz I'd never gotten this far without screwing it up before) that I had totally missed the faggoting stitches. Doh! I might have stopped but at this point I was pretty much foaming at the mouth. My next step in 'knitting something you will surely hate' was to combine this sweet, pretty purple 'morning glories' with another colorway that contrasted something like a clown suit on your president. You take two things that, on their own, can be entirely acceptable. In the case of the yarn, even beautiful (sorry, I've not know enough clowns to say I've met a beautiful one - I mean, how could you know, anyway, since they are disguised in paint? ) and combine them into something that is deeply disturbing. No one feels comforted by seeing their president juggling tennis balls and honking his foam nose. Clearly, I have not been well.

I am glad to report that after a consolation in the form of a very good beer, I did begin to see reason. I pledged to keep myself a simple sock knitter until life settles a bit. To hold sacred that morning and waiting time for the sheer pleasure of knitting the simple sock in some hand-dyed yarn that will make its own eye-dazzling patterns. Something that will be worn well and the feet will be glad to have them. Something that doesn't need anything from me other that the level of thought and consideration that I can easily give it. So, I did. And all is well. As well as it gets, anyway.......

Prepare to be Astounded....

Pssst....it's me again - the sock. You maybe can't see me too well on account of that I'm the one in the back. Look, uh, I don't have much time - between you and me - they keep a pretty short leash on me but I don't really mind. Anyway, I kinda left you hanging and it occurred to me later that you might be worried about me. So, I just wanted to let you know I'm all right.

The last few weeks have been pretty tough, though. I don't mention it much because I don't want to risk the deep, dark basket treatment again. When I left you last, I might have mentioned a certain arrangement in a light that implied I was not interested. Let me just correct that by saying, publicly, that I reject that insinuation. And, honey, if you're reading (and I'm sure you are since you watch my every move), I couldn't be happier.

Of course, I haven't always been so wise. I admit that when she put you down to work solely on me, squealing with glee that we were 'beyond ankle' and 'almost in the mid-calf stretch', I kinda felt like everything had gone back to normal. Not for some time had she sat and rubbed my back and said soothing, loving things about my fantastic color. Then came the ribbing and the 'elf flap' (whatever that is) and I felt like I was a rock n'roll hero. She had to wipe her lip quickly not to drool on me in the wee hours of the night when she trimmed my flap with handspun silk and merino coiled yarn. When she gave me my tassle, complete with a beautiful brown glass bead, we both shuddered a little - which I foolishly took as a comforting sign that we were going to make it through the impossible saga of me being a mere sock and her being, well, that great big human thingie. I pictured us going for long walks (which, strangely, then, involved only one foot) in the sunset talking at length about the muses of our hearts. My tassel, I imagined, would flow in the wind, offsetting the sparkly yarn nicely - and I felt fine like a rare jewel. I was certain that my days on the shelf were over - and they were. But, the horror that awaited me, the lonely, darkened despair, was unfathomable in light of feeling so euphoric and proud.

Then, I woke up in 'the basket'. It's a deep, dark, dank place, dearest, that I'm glad you never had to go to. After the first day, I resolved to pout a little when she came for me. After the second, I was whimpering and beginning to cry whilst the other 'nearly done' creatures jeered at me and snickered while pointing out my, and I quote, 'fruity fluff and pomp'. By day 3, I was prepared to leap out of the basket and beg her forgiveness for whatever trespass I unknowingly committed but...she still didn't come. On day five, when she finally came back, I doted on her. I shined and twinkled for her. I shook my tassle like a wanton hussy and just when I was sure all was well, she explained that I was only coming out to be 'measured' against the 'other one'. Now, Dearest, I mean no slight on you when I say that I feared it was out of spite alone that you came up one inch short which necessitated me being thrown back in the slammer basket for another two nights. Oh, the jeering I endured from those basket creatures. They laughed at me even as I wept myself to sleep, those bastards!

But, all of this is a distant memory, I assure you. Since the day you were done, and we lay together for our photo session, I knew you were the only one for me. I mean, look at your tassel - so fluffy and sparkly - you wear your bead like none other. Your patterning is stunning and that curve of shaping on your calf? Uh, if I don't stop here I could get into trouble. Va va va voom is all I'm sayin'...

~~~~~~TRANSCRIPT BECOMES UNDECIPHERABLE OVER VULGAR NOISEMAKING AND STRUTTING~~~

Now, I know you may not be astounded by my socks but you should be somewhat so by the fact that I spun the yarn, designed, and knit them in a month, non? But, perhaps the sock saga isn't what you came here for. Perhaps you came because you always do - in which case I thank you rightly but also offer you the friendly suggestion that you might need to have your head examined. Perhaps you came because it is the first of the month and that is when I announce the terms and prizes for the May Great Giveaway. Heh! Who am I kidding? I don't believe I have announced the Great Giveaway on time - yet (says she who is always late to her own party) so it just might shock and overwhelm you to find that I not only spun some fab yarn and knit some totally quirky elvish socks from my own design in a month but that I also have (finally, I hear some of you whisper) made it to the announcement of the Great Giveaway on time. I sure hope so, because I have no picture. That's just what it is, a mystery. The Great Giveaway for May is for the quirky, eclectic spinner. You'll get 4 ozs. of mix and match mystery batts - chock full of whatever eye candy strikes my fancy as I make them. There are some rules for this month's giveaway, though and they are thus:
1. Ya'll - be nice. This will be explained in the following paragraph (or novel as the case may be).
2. If you forget to be nice, then be even nicer for a while.....it won't hurt anybody, I promise.
3. Leave your name and your most favorite nice thing someone has ever done for you(that you want to share in public, of course, heh heh!) in the comments for a random drawing.

I was a little disheartened to find some bashing of free gifters going on on the greatest fiber forum there isto be found. Kinda got under my skin a bit but then I laughed and, as I often do, thought about what my grandma would say to that. She'd say something like, 'dang, some people are so sour you can't even give 'em honey.' And that would be true.

So, the gist of the thread of bashing were about why or why not to give a freebie when someone buys something from your shop. Some said they did it to market future items, some said they felt grateful that people picked their lesser well-known shops from the pool of available fiber fish in the sea. But, sadly, some insinuated, or outright suggested that only a seller who doesn't believe in their own work would give something away for free with a purchase. Then, there was the assertion that nothing comes for free and, therefore, the purchaser was probably paying for their freebie anyway. This went on and on and basically became another one of those 'who' and 'who isn't' worthy of the title they bear (fartist, for my part)which is infuriating, insulting, and totally sad for me - and I think for most of the great people I've come to know in fiber fun land. It makes it all feel so icky that I (just for a moment) contemplated axing the Great Giveaway and ceasing to send my little 'present' with my packages. I did neither, though, because my intent is and has always been clear to me.

I am a giver. I love to give. Long before I had a shop, or sold fiber in any way, I would seek out bloggers whom I admired, found refreshingly humorous, or was indebted to for some knitterly expertise they shared on their blog that made light bulbs go blinkety-blink in my head and send them fiber oodles of love. The Great Giveaway is not here to lure you into shopping in my store. Though, if you are lured, we will treat you quite nice, indeed - just as we treat EVERYONE. The Great Giveaway, you may recall, is a way that I get to play around each month by giving any random little thing away to someone who visits me often. If you were a local friend, and you visited often, I would send you away with all manner of goodies. But, since we have this orb between us, the Great Giveaway still allows me the pleasure of gifting to friends and strangers. If you haven't tried gifting yet, please do, you will feel a tickle in your heart...a smile will replace your grim grin....and you'll experience a little bit of peace....it is all good.

As for the freebies I include in my packages, ditto. I do it because I want to and should the time ever arise that I don't want to, I just won't. I don't have the organization, wits, or savvy style to use it as a 'preview' to taunt and tease unsuspecting buyers into buying my future stuffs. I just usually (or hubster, whoever the carder may be) take some little samples of colors and some glitzy leftovers for fiber peoples and throw them on the carder. Sometimes, its bits of roving. For yarn peoples, it's often a stitch marker. None of these things adds anything to the purchase price or is in any way factored into my costs. My investment is in the time and consideration I feel for them when I make it. I generally use beads left over from larger projects on the stitch markers and recycled materials whenever I can. So, doubters of the kind intentions of people, please stop bashing them on the forums. Sometimes, people are just nice. I know it must strike you as odd or even annoying but there it is.....you can bully us, hate us, and suggest we are sleuths of fiber business all you want but we just might muster up our most stubborn bones and royally piss you off by continuing to be nice!

Encyclopedia of Knitterly Ailments

I had this 'great idea' a few weeks ago. How is it that I always walk away with that cookie, biting into it like a gullible soul and not ever have a drop of skepticism seep through? (stitcher's delusion?) It all began with my shawls. I love shawls. I love the way they flow, the way they look, the way they feel. Well....maybe not so much with the way they feel. Truth be told, I've been getting frustrated with my shawls. I'm a busy, active woman. I'm often around animals which, if you don't know, means you could make an arse of yourself and/or end up on your arse in the blink of an eye. I work bent over a pot of boiling dye, cooking meals, canning of homegrown produce, or weeding rows MUCH of my day. So, those little tails that hang down on the front of the shawl have started to irk me. (Cranky shawl-itis?) They've been dripped in a pot of stew, they've been chewed on by a silly lamb, they've been coated in garden dirt (well, on different shawls - not all on the same one). So, one chilly morning I sat with my shawl wrapped around me trying to do my normal tasks and frustration mounted. It was then that I decided a shawl needed to be tied. I got out my longest shawl and tried to tie it around the back of my waist. It didn't fit so good. I got out some paper, and graph paper, and pencils, and some hand-dyed loop mohair yarn, and started to design the shawl for a woman without eight arms to hold up the ends. Then, three days later, my copy of Spin-Off arrived. I made my afternoon cuppa and sat down to devour it and the magazine and......this is what I found.

I don't know what my obsession with being original is. I blame it on being a middle child. As a middle child (especially a 2nd daughter in the South) it is like death to be 'like' the elder sibling in any way. You spend most of your life trying to be your own person and still dodge the 'like'ness of the older sibling or younger. I think, really, everyone wants to feel like they are original and unique. And, we are, of course. But, still, it is sometimes deflating to find that your strokes of genius are merely revisiting of older, wiser ways. I snapped out of my inner 3 year old and stopped stomping my feet and stuttering, 'bbb but!'. I just got back to work on my design - incorporating the wisdom that I gleaned from the pages with the ideas I had in my own mind and the shawl is progressing nicely. The end product is very different from the pattern in Spin-Off and that's enough for me. I don't seek to 'own' any knitting way. It still baffles me that some people do. A few months ago, it baffled me enough that I wondered (unarmed and weary to boot) into an on-line forum discussion about copyrighting patterns. Whew! I slunk back into the recesses and tried to disappear! People get worked into a right froth trying to 'own' creations. That is so weird to me, as I only want to dream them and then give them away.

Oh, and there was the ritualistic 'release' spin after the 385 yds. of fingering wgt. yarn that I got out of my 4 ozs. of 'Wood Elves' batts from the Happy Hooves batt club we just started this month. There's 6 ozs. in the set and I included about 1 oz. of silk roving dyed in 'wood elves' as a free gift so I took those and plied them together for heels and toes (about 50 yds.). The leftovers, I plied with some sporadic coiling as I'm designing a pattern that screams, "get your freak flag, ya'll" for some Happy Hooves socks and they will call for a trim that expresses what can happen when one spins under the influence of beer. I hope I get to do that again, soon!

Now, sit down and breath - it has happened AGAIN! I have finished a knitting project. I know, shocking! The vardo socks sat in my basket with about 1 inch left on the second one for eons. Why am I so stubborn? I get SO CLOSE to the end and then all the excitement just drains out of me. Instead of buckling down and getting on with it, I prolong the suffering by leaving that last little bit undone for days. It's a sickness, I think. What would we call that one? Finishanoia?

I think I love this colorway with a passion I had not anticipated. I love red but rarely wear it. So, the deep red was a great seduction. But, the peacock shades of green, blue, black, and dark brown popping up here and there are like feathers on your feet - tickles.

How We Became - FArtists.......

Winter in Maine makes you sort of philosophical at times, like now. I know, it isn't winter anymore (see proof otherwise on the left - taken from my porch this afternoon) in the rest of civilization (maybe an exaggeration). Elsewhere, at least the crocuses are trying to poke through the muddy, squishy ground or has already turned into shorts and t-shirt weather. I suppose you could wear shorts and t-shirts here today but you would definitely stick out in a crowd...particularly if you are from Maine and do not frequent a tanning booth all winter in which case your complexion will have reached a pallor that will help you if you suddenly score a role in a play as a corpse or a vampire.

It's the 'lag' between birds singing (heard some this morning despite the weather)and flowers blooming which appears to be happening rampantly elsewhere, and our being in the midst of winter's grasp just faltering a bit. You can't dig into those outdoorsy spring 'to do' lists. Gardeners are tormented in this time because the urge to start seeds is nearly overwhelming all evidence indicating 'NOT YET you fool'. And, everyone is sick of being cold and stuck inside. You could get downright miserable and I guess we sometimes do but most of the time this seasonal shift finds us thinking ahead, hoping for a great summer, and kinda taking stock of what we're here for.

So, I was watching 'Nature' on PBS with the kids the other night (a weekly family ritual) and it was, this week, on primates. I know there are so many complicated, political, societal, and even some paranoid implications with the primates thing but I assure you that I am implying here that we are like ALL animals (leaving the feuding and fear for another place) because, well, we are animals. Doesn't it ever freak you out when we do something, or an animal does something that is so similar in thought/processing/behavior that you immediately notice its relevancy to your own life?

My sheep are people when they stand outside the garden fence on a hot summer day, shifting their weight from hip to hip and chewing their cud like its bubblegum with increasing 'attitude' while I'm pulling up perfectly good food (weeds) when they should be devouring them. I understand their pain, so I throw the weeds over the fence into a great big pile of snacks but while some nod, "thanks" and proceed to gobble and enjoy, others will stand looking scornful at me for 'ruining' it first. People are like that, too. Some are very content and grateful and some are rarely satisfied.

When my goldfish are serenely zipping around the tank until they spot me and start convulsively communicating that they are surely dying of hunger (which I can't stand to watch so I'm always giving them an extra pinch of food here and there which makes them the biggest goldfish we've seen - it's a sick relationship but I fail at shame more than I'd like to admit) I see the human mirror of that. You know, those days when your heart is heavy and you think you're keeping yourself held together until that dear friend that you can hide nothing from taps you on the shoulder and gives you that look that says, "hey, are you okay?" and you instantly melt into a puddle of a sobbing mess? There's no debating: humans and goldfish are very dramatic!

Anyway, back to the show. There were a few times when the human/animal idea were most disturbing. This meaning the time a group of 'members' of one ape family met and decided to oust another loner guy and subsequently hunted him down and attacked him. It was hard to watch. Made harder by the discussion I witnessed wherein things 1 and 2 tried to calm the obviously upset thing 3 by reminding him that while it does really suck, it sometimes happens. They sum up by saying that, unfortunate though it is, people can do that to each other, too. Ouch.

Then, there was this bit at the end where the 'wise guy' of the pack sat around mimicking other apes and generally irking them for the amusement of others. That was made even funnier when hubster and thing 1 were joking around to lighten the heavy atmosphere that can only result from a family game of Monopoly (a game which is sooo frustrating even if you're winning - especially if you're winning because then everybody hates you). She was the talker and he was the mimicker - we all laughed so hard and the tension of the game quickly dissipated.

Still it was the idea of each ape (and chimps on this one, too) believing they had created some 'new wheel' that stung the most. The chimp father who believed he had 'the way' to break open a log and eat the termites, kept insisting his son watch him do it and learn it 'the way'. Of course, the son had already watched him do it a million times and had no intention of learning his father's 'way' but was searching for his own 'the way'. I know you knitters know what I'm talking about. It has happened to me too many times to count. A week or so ago, I cast on for some 'vardo' socks. Every time I cast on for socks, I am reminded that I once actually believed I'd created a perfect joining method. Instead of fighting the gap that sometimes happens between each dpn (which later I would learn has a name - it is called laddering) by tugging on the strings tightly, which doesn't work so well with the first join of the stitches in the round, I did something different. I cast on one extra stitch more than was called for and, when joining, slipped it onto the first needle and k2tog on the first stitch. It closes the hole perfectly. See the little cast on tail just hanging out there to mark the round for you, too? (and, ahem, I told you about the vampire pallor so quit laughing at my hands) Oh, I thought I was clever. I felt proud, then confident. I may have been so arrogant as to think myself 'original'. It was powerful. Then I realized, it was probably something that someone else had probably figured out a long time ago.

What's worse, I probably read it somewhere a hundred times and either didn't fully understand it or just never paid attention. Suddenly, I was having one of those 'show up naked to your 7th grade class' daymares in which I would proclaim amongst a room full of my favorite knitters that I'd found a great NEW technique. I'd clear my throat and explain speaking annoyingly slow and clear because- duh- I'm assuming I'm the only one who knows it. Then they'd look at me with that 'are you kidding?' stare. Only, some might take a dpn shooting laser from under their chair and shoot them at my rear as I run away. But I'm awake, now, and if this tidbit of sock knitting wisdom is, in fact, a jewel of someone else's - I'm okay with that. Just don't tell me -yet. Wait until spring has come for even us poor Vitamin D deficient folk of Northern New England.

To add insult to injury, I decided to fiddle around with a stitch pattern. I didn't consult an oracle or even a stitch dictionary - just played around until I had some triangle purls and inverted triangle knit sts going on. I felt excited to be driving without a license, so to speak. Unfortunately, it ended up looking like pig's entrails. I'm not one to frog just on account of a mis-guided stitch pattern so I just went back to knitting stockinette and all was well. I might try again on the second sock because I am just loony enough to not be bothered, either, by wearing two matching socks with mis-matched stitches. You know, it's a 'fly your freak flag without shame' sort of thing.

So, we've been needing comedy....waxxing philosophical.....and spending more family time together. Thus the stage was set for us to enter spring thinking about who we are and what we do and what we want to do. Hubster says, 'what are we?'. A few teenage 'duh' responses float around, then some funny ones like, 'I think we're people, Dad.' and so on. Then, it is decided that we are, first and foremost, a family farm. We are farmers. Secondly, we are artists. Naturally, we are FArtists. Carry on.