Too hot to knit

The last few days have been beastly hot, with afternoon rain. Too hot to knit, in fact. And the outlook is for more of the same. What do you do when it is too hot to knit? Exercise, of course. And the preferred exercise in this household is mountain biking.

Sunday afternoon we ventured out for an afternoon ride. Sure, the sky was overcast and grey. But it had been that way for hours. We had plenty of time before the rain. We did the first half-loop. Great fun. Couldn't be better. Started for the secondf half.

Now, the way we ride this trail, there is a decision point. You can turn left and head immediately to the parking lot and be there in 5 minutes or less. Or you can turn right and continue your ride, arriving at the parking lot about 30 minutes later. We were feeling widely scattered sprinkles during our approach to this decision point. Very widely scattered sprinkles.

So we turned right.

Mother Nature was NOT amused. Not even a little bit. We hadn't gone 30 meters when the skies opened up. Torrential downpour. But -- hey -- we were hot and exercising so this was not a problem. We kept going.

Then Mother Nature upped the ante with lightning. Of course, we felt by this time that we had reached the point of no return and it would be a quicker route to the parking lot if we continued on. This meant, of course, that we could not stop at our usual resting points because they were on high ground, beside tall trees, and we were riding lightning rods -- I mean metal bicycles.

We persevered. We pedaled madly. We went through and around mud puddles. Lakes, more like it. And we ended up at the parking lot in a record 20 minutes. Of course, we had no clean clothes (there is no changing room). We did not have towels either, because the lake -- the reason for needing towels -- was at home.

We did what any self-respecting biker would do -- threw the bikes on the car, piled in, and headed for home. This is what Doug looked like.


You can't see it, but there was actually a very small dry triangle of material on the side of his legs. The shoes and socks had already come off. The socks were wrung out. He squeezed a good half-cup of water from them. Everything was completely drenched. I didn't look much better.

We jumped in the lake completely dressed. It seemed a good way to rinse some of the mud out of the clothes before laundering.

Did I mention that we had a dinner invitation that evening? We opted to take the dry car.

Lace Knitting

I enjoy knitting complicated patterns. Cables, yarn-overs, lace. The more the merrier. Traditionally, I have knit these patterns in knitting worsted weight wool. You know--wool with some substance to it.

At the Knitter's Frolic in April, however, I saw some absolutely lovely, to-die-for lace-weight alpaca. I don't knit with such finicky wool. Never have. And what do you do with a lace-weight wool except make scarves or shawls? I don't wear 'em.

But that alpaca called to me. All day. Softly and insidiously. Until I could resist no longer. Then I went searching for a pattern. Fiddlesticks Knitting Whisper Scarf.

Next I tried to find the perfect rocking chair. To no avail. But if I sat still the platform rocker was comfortable, the space inviting. The knitting alluring.

I finished the scarf and blocked the scarf. In this heat. But you know what? It was definitely worth it. This is the end result:

Truly awesome. Light and airy. Light enough that a poof of wind will make it flutter nicely. Small enough that I can carry it with me and admire my work. And show it to unsuspecting friends and neighbours.

The Yarn Harlot was asked once what her last project would be if she were limited to only one more knitting project. She thought a bit, and decided that a wedding ring shawl would be chosen, for a multitude of reasons. She's right. Lace weight beauty, requisite skills, and then the thrill of blocking.

Fortunately, I have another project on the needles already!

My sister is having surgery tomorrow, to remove the upper-left lobe of her lungs and remove the cancer. Please think of her and her daughter.

Knitters are such nice people

I've been teaching a knitting class at the Uxbridge Library, arranged by the Friends of the Uxbridge Library. The class is offered free of charge to interested patrons. The room is donated by the Library. And it gets me out of the house one night a week.

Last night was the official last night of the class. One of the "students" is a silversmith and operates, with her husband, a studio. She made a thank you gift for me and presented it last night. Imagine -- my very own silver stitch markers!

The class also gave me a nice card to say "thanks." Apparently they have figured out that I really, really like cats.

The students are becoming enthralled with the process of knitting. So much so that they have requested me to ask if it would be possible for us to continue meeting at the library for the rest of the summer. The library has very graciously given us permission to meet for the next three Thursday evenings. We'll see if the group wants to continue meeting beyond that.

I hope so. Knitters are such nice people.

Families -- Part Two

Remember my sister? The one out in Missouri who was having surgery for breast cancer? The good news is that the lumpectomy removed the entire lump, with clean edges. Which means, as I understand it, that the cancer had not spread anywhere. This is good news.

The bad news? She had a spot on her lungs that she had been advised was the after-effect of the pleurisy in January. She was having a routine recheck for pleurisy and complications, when the spot on her lung was observed to still be there. This was NOT the plan. The plan was that when the pleurisy was cleared up, the spot would go away. After testing and a biopsy, it was determined that the spot was, in fact, lung cancer.

The good news? The MRI did not show any spread of cancer to the brain. Apparently, lung cancer's favorite place to metastasize is the brain. So at least we have good news. Also in the category of good news is that a surgery on the lung cancer is scheduled for July 20.

My sister has one child--a daughter named Melissa. She is in the category of being a full-grown child. But she is still terribly distraught with her mother's health crisis. As a sister of the patient, I am terribly distraught. I cannot imagine what Melissa feels.

Unfortunately, all this health crisis is happening in Missouri. That is a long, long ways from Ontario. And I can't be there for them. At least physically.

Being sent with today's Canada Post, is this: a prayer shawl for Melissa. It's not much, but it's what I can do right now. Down the road? We'll just have to see. And pray for a good outcome surgically.

The shawl came from Stephanie Pearl McPhee's book, Knitting Rules. I used three balls of Lion Brand Jiffy and some white yarn from my stash.

Houston, we (may) have a problem.

The stash:















The stash containment system:














Does anyone see a problem here?

A Yarn Haul Without Comparison

My favorite yarn store is, regrettably, going out of business. I am broken-hearted at the thought of losing this priceless resource.

Of course, with the imminent demise of my favorite shop, it was imperative that I make some purchases to tide me over until I find another favorite yarn shop. Or open my own. But that's another story.

So today I went out to the shop and this is what I got:


In the upper left corner you see balls of red, gold and white Zara along with a ball of green wool acquired at the Knitter's Frolic. These are destined to be a sweater for Doug -- along with a lot of other balls of green.

Immediately below the Zara is a hank of yellow/cream baby alpaca. This will be mittens for the upcoming winter.

Lying next to the alpaca are two balls of alpaca in lovely jewel tones. These will become either mittens or a hat.

The mauve is an alpaca/silk blend, destined to become a sweater shown in the current Interweave Knits. For myself, if you can imagine.

There are two hanks of hand-dyed alpaca, crying to become a shawl.

Two balls of Regia silk, planned to be a pair of socks for Doug.

Three balls of cotton, which want to be a summer top.

Eleven hanks of a lovely cotton blend which also want to become a summer top.

There are some balls of Debbie Bliss cotton/angora blend which will become a summer top.

There are also ten hanks of Silky Wool which will become a wonderful top for me.

So much knitting, so many fibers. My mind went into overload and I couldn't give you a careful description of them.

Sigh. I'm in heaven.

Learning about myself

Apparently, not only can I be bought (see previous post on June 15), I am also not trustworthy when visiting yarn stores.

You see, Stephanie hosted her birthday party at Lettuce Knit in Toronto. Using the excuse that I wanted her autograph, I hied down to Toronto and perused said yarn store.

Honestly, these skeins just followed me home. Er ... they jumped into my arms, begging to be welcomed into a happy home. (Never mind that Stephanie and I dumped the basket holding the alpaca yarn onto the floor with our fondling. Nor the flailing elbows that prevailed around the basket holding the other.)

So what you see here is the result of my trek to town:
On the left you see two skeins of Misti Alpaca, 100% baby alpaca. The colour is actually more of a buttery yellow, and the texture is to die for. I now own 800 meters of this delight, and am contemplating a shawl.

On the right you see one skein of Seasilk, from Handmaiden. This fiber is 70% silk and 30% Seacell. The fiber purportedly exudes vitamin E while you are working with it and while wearing the finished product. We'll see. All I know is that it reminds me of my trip to the Caribbean last year with my daughter.

Honestly, they followed me home!

Thursday already?

So where in the world does time go? I can't believe it's been so long since my last post.

What's been happening in the meantime? Well, I've been helping out a friend at her yarn shop. Yes, it is now official. I CAN be bought. I've also started teaching a knitting class at the Uxbridge Library, jointly sponsored by the Friends of the Uxbridge Library and Yonder Yarns. That does take up some time.

My younger sister announced that she is expecting a baby this fall. This means that not only do I get to knit for a baby, but I also get to make things for the neice as well. After all, one mustn't forget the new big sister, right?

Here you see Emery's sweater. The pattern is from Sirdar, #3061. It is a reasonably easy pattern, both to read and to knit. Be aware, however, that the pattern details have been omitted from the sleeve directions. The mistake was quite easy to spot, so I didn't have to spend much time making corrections.


The yarn itself is Magic Garden Classic, a super-wash wool. The colour is just scrumptious. The yarn was purchased at the Knitters Frolic last April. The sweater is seen here pre-blocking. I also need to find the perfect buttons. Any ideas? The neice is 4 years old ...

I also discovered that my guage was strange with this pattern. I've been doing pretty well, getting guage. With this pattern, needle and wool ... I basically ended up using the stitch numbers for the size 1-2 year size, and using the length directions for the 3-4 year size. I really haven't experienced this before. But it worked, so I guess I can't complain. Well, I CAN. I'm just not planning on it.

In other news ... the Yarn Harlot's birthday was Wednesday. She celebated by having a party at Lettuce Knit in Toronto. Just because I'm a wild and crazy kind of person, I decided to go. I took the GO train from the Oshawa station to the Danforth Station, walked up to the Main Station of the TTC and rode the subway over to the Spadina Station. In a perfect world, I would've then gotten on the Spadina streetcar and had a pleasant ride to the proper cross-street.

Instead, I missed the transfer to the streetcar and started walking. Now, it is legend and well-known amongst my family and friends that I am totally directionless. So of course I turned the wrong direction out of the subway station and started walking. After two blocks I realized that the sun was setting on my left ... which meant that I was walking north. This knowledge really pleased me since I am so directionless. Unfortunately, the store is located in Kensington Market which is south of the Spadina station. I turned around and started walking south. Along the way, I saw a beautiful double rainbow. It was getting close to 9:00 pm, and I was afraid that I would miss the festivities, but at least I saw the rainbow. It was worth it.

I arrived at Lettuce Knit and discovered that the festivities were just warming up. Stephanie handed me a beer and welcomed me. I perched next to a couple of new friends -- also knitting baby projects. Melanie, who was gracious enough to see that I boarded the proper streetcar at the end of the evening, had a baby bootie in her bag. It was knitted but not seamed, as she was not sure that it really was a bootie. I showed her that it was, loaned her a needle and scissors, and made a new friend. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to get an e-mail address. If anyone knows who she is and how she can be contacted, it would be great if you could share with me.

Finally, after consuming the beer donated by Stephanie and having some munchies, I asked her to sign her book for me and pose for a photo. She did. I am so lucky. And Stephanie is truly a wonderful person.

Stephanie says "Same time, next year." I am *SO* going to be there.

In search of the perfect rocking chair

I don't know about anyone else, but I know that I love rocking chairs. In my humble opinion, the world would be a lot better place if we all sat down and spent some time in a rocking chair, sipping tea, and even knitting a row or two. The problem with this (and it pains me greatly to admit that there is a problem) is that a good rocking chair is difficult to find. Difficult? Try nearly impossible.

In my house, there are currently three rocking chairs. All purchased with me in mind, and purchased by me. Tested beforehand, I might add. These chairs are sly and sneaky. They test out perfectly fine in the store or at the yard sale. Once convinced they have a safe home, they morph into evil beings.

For instance, take this chair. This is an Ikea chair. My son and daughter-in-law have two of them at their apartment. I sat in them and rocked. They were wonderful. Quiet and comfortable. I even knit at their apartment. The chairs there cooperated wonderfully.

So we purchased a pair of chairs, exactly like my son's, for our home. Unfortunately for us, this year the chairs seem to be the most popular chair Ikea carries. We managed to score the chairs and chair pads we wanted. After several trips to our local Ikea, we have even managed to procure the pads for the footstools. The footstool itself? Not to be found. Scarce is an understatement. We have been looking since last August. To no avail. The chair would be just fine with a footstool. Without? Well, I'm not the tallest person in the world. My feet don't quite hit the floor, and the chair cuts into the back of my knees. Besides, and this is not the fault of the chair, this chair is in the middle of my living room. The daughter does her homework on the floor right in front of this chair. The television is 8 feet away. The stereo is likewise 8 feet away. One or both of them seem to be constantly in use. For lace knitting, this arrangement leaves a lot to be desired.

To obtain the necessary peace and quiet for lace knitting, I often retreat to the bedroom. This is a parental oasis of calm and quiet. No children are permitted, except by special dispensation. Only one cat is allowed in, and she is the quiet one. One would think that the atmosphere would be conducive to lace knitting. Wouldn't you?


One would think. However, the bentwood rocker has other ideas. It squeaks on the backward motion, and it squeals on the forward motion. I still haven't figured out how, since there are no moving parts. But squeak and squeal it does. I suppose if I rocked in a constant, even motion no one would mind. But I seem to rock furiously -- probably when I am on the return row which has no yarn-overs or knit two togethers. Then I rock and pause, rock and pause. Followed by furious rocking.

This drives my husband crazy. It doesn't do my mental state any good either. Squeak. Squeal. Squeak. Squeal. Kind of defeats the relaxing purpose of knitting.

So I went searching for a rocking chair that would not squeak. I wandered yard sales, hoping for that elusive perfect rocking chair. This chair followed me home one Saturday.

At its previous home, it rocked quietly. Smoothly backward, smoothly forwards. And silently. The owner claimed to have rocked her babies in this chair. Quietly backward, quietly forward. I tested it. Really. Tested it thoroughly, I might add. And it was quiet. So I plunked my hard-earned cash down and brought it home.

My lovely husband carried it upstairs. I lovingly washed the cushion covers so that they would not smell. I started my Fiddlesticks Knitting Whisper Scarf out of lace-weight alpaca from Silver Cloud Alpacas. And the blasted chair squeaks. Horribly. Even if I'm not moving! How does it do that?! Oh, I've figured out that if I sit in exactly the right spot, with my left foot in the perfect place on the floor, my right foot in its precisely proper position, with my tongue pushed firmly behind my top front teeth, the chair does not complain. But have you tried to knit lace under those conditions? Impossible, I say.

There will be a yard sale Saturday in Port Perry. There is a better-than-average chance that you will find at least one rocking chair there!

Families

You know, there is nothing like a family. Sometimes they drive you nuts. Sometimes you just love them to pieces. You don't get to choose your family. It just is. From the minute of your birth, until the end of your days. Friends -- yeah, you can choose them. And you can unchoose them if you want. But family is forever.

And there is something else about families, well, my family anyway. We just don't seem to stay in touch very well. I have a sister out west who met my daughter for the first time at my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. The daughter was 12. We don't snail mail very well. We don't even e-mail very well. To make it worse, we don't even telephone each other very well.

Until illness strikes. When my mother was ill, we were talking several times every day. Until we all met at the hospital and spent the last days together there. Then everyone went home and we vowed that we would stay in touch. And we did, for a short time.

And then we slipped into our old patterns of non-communication. Sure, there was the occasional e-mail and the even more rare telephone call. But really? We just didn't communicate.

My sister has had a rough 2006. She spent some time in January in the hospital, culminating in open-chest surgery to relieve the pleurisy. Followed by plenty of follow-up. And she quit smoking!

As part of the follow-up, she went for her (first) annual physical in five years. And they found breast cancer. Fortunately, it appears to be easily resolved with a lumpectomy and radiation. But there is still a spot on her lung as well. Scarey stuff. And she is way out west, a two-day drive from family. I can't be there for her, as much as I want to. So I made this:


The Clapotis that everyone else has made, except that mine is filled with prayers for healing, good health, and love. Lots of love. Lots and lots of love.

The yarn is Sirdar Supersoft Toddler Aran, acrylic and washable. It seems my sister is allergic to wool. Wouldn't it have been awful to have made the shawl in wool, only to have her break out in hives on top of everything else? I wouldn't do that to my sister, even on a bad day. The garden belongs to my neighbour, and it is as beautiful as it appears in the photo. Thanks, neighbour, for the loan.

I will thrum no more, forever

This is a paraphrase of Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce. Here you see my abortive attempt at thrums. This is the ribbing and eight rows of a thrummed mitten. All done perfectly and well. At least I think so, but I've never done this before so what do I know.

In any event, after this terrific endeavour at thrums, it was bedtime. So I slept.

I awoke the next day with pain in my shoulders. Aching, dull pain that wasn't serious enough to take medicines, but enough to make me cranky and irritable. (Children, be quiet! I'm not normally cranky and irritable! Really!!)

At first, I thought it was because I slept on my side at night ... I couldn't figure out why I would suddenly be sore. Did the futon lose all comfort overnight? And here I thought it would be a gradual process. Anyway, I thought about picking up the thrummed mitten again ... and with the first attempt to tear the roving into thrum-sized pieces, my shoulders REALLY hurt. I stopped.

The next day, my shoulders were feeling ... um ... better. After I had spent another night sleeping on my sides. And not thrumming. The second day was even better.

My conclusion? Thrumming is not gonna become my passion. Sorry to all my relatives who were hoping for warm winter woolen, thrummed mitts. Just can't do it. At least I can still knit.

(Was that sound a bunch of heart-felt sighs of relief?)

Last words of a lace knitter

For those of you who have wondered, after extreme research I have finally determined the last spoken words a lace knitter will utter. "Life line? I don't need a life line. " Inevitably, after speaking these words in a voice bursting with confidence, the knitter will realize that something strange has taken possession of her knitting. Instead of 37 stitches between the markers, there will inexplicably be 36. Instead of 9 stitches at the ends of the lace panels, there will be 7 AND 8. In other words, there will be a mess.

Further research has further shown that no matter how painstakingly the knitter tinks back stitch after tiny stitch, it is absolutely impossible to take only one row back. Because the mess that has become the knitting will inexorably slide down the knitting. Especially if the lace-weight wool is fluffy.

So ... one MIGHT ask how this painstaking research was accomplished. If one were truly crazy.
Because, you see, this research smacks plainly of the bitter voice of experience. (I did say bitter, didn't I?)

After days and days of tinking, counting, cursing, drinking, tinking, counting -- well, I am sure you get the picture. I finally have resolved the problems and been able to stop knitting backwards. What you see below is 101 rows of my beautiful, alpaca lace scarf.
Yes, after all this, I still love the project, the yarn and lace.

Have I mentioned that my family swear that I am stark, raving mad?

Baby Overload

I've been knitting diligently on baby sets for the Durham Crisis Pregnancy Centre. I enjoy making baby things because they go so quickly -- even with the teeny, tiny needles and light-weight wool. I also like the feeling that I'm doing something good for the world, by showing the clients of the Centre that someone really does care about them. Will it help? I certainly hope so, but I have no way of knowing.

This week I finished up this little set. I found the leaf-pattern on the sacque yoke and hat to be adorable. Easy to knit too, which was a bonus. The lace pattern in the body of the sacque? Well, let's not talk about it. Easy to do, and yet not. Every row was different, every row required counting, every row threw me a curve. Glad to be done, that's for sure.

The pattern came from Paton's Book No. 111 titled Nursery Styles for 3-12 Months by Beehive. A classic publication, which I believe dates from the 60s. Possibly a bit later, but I'm not certain. All I know is that the little sets are mostly adorable and I'm itching to try another one.

Last week I finished up this little blue set from the McCall's baby book that I use frequently. The picture doesn't do the colour justice as the colour really is a soft baby blue. I've made this set previously (in pink) and originally found the lace pattern frustrating. Actually, it is easier than the pattern shown above. Ten rows, six of which are knit straight across. How much nicer can that be?

Again, this set will be going to the Durham Crisis Pregnancy Centre.

In other news? My sister has announced the impending arrival of Baby #2. I'm so excited! This means that I simply *must* make something for the new baby, as well as big sister Emery. Of course, this also gives me a reason to browse through my (extensive) pattern collection and plan my next projects.

And finally the big news -- in less than 30 days my son will be home from Mexico! Only an eight-hour drive away, instead of multiple days. He has had a grand adventure and enjoyed himself. He lived through home-sickness, language problems, and Montezuma's Revenge.

And thrived. Doesn't get much better than this.

Trillium time in Ontario

Springtime is a lovely time of year. The lake thaws, the geese and ducks come back. We see the occasional loon floating by. We even have a heron that lives near and we see it flying back and forth in its search for food. A couple nights ago Doug saw an otter fishing in the weed bed out beyond our dock. The grass is turning green and we are even getting some new grass in areas seeded last fall. The trees are turning a luscious shade of electric green as the leaves start to form. The cats are going crazy -- they can't wait to get outside in the morning to see what adventures await them.

And what do we people do to celebrate spring? We go mountain biking. Sometimes we even manage to not fall off the bikes. Today was one such day. We did the eastern loop of the conservation area park near us. There are some amazing up-hill climbs, followed by some truly exciting downhill rides. And then there is yet another reason to ride here:

Ooops. Not that! That's me recovering from the killer up-hill.

THIS is the reason to ride at Long Sault Conservation Area. This field of trilliums is hiding way back in the trail system. To access it, one must navigate some truly challenging hills. Both up and down. But once you get here, it is all worth it. Trilliums as far as the eye can see.

The other reason to ride this part of the trails? It's filled with poison ivy later in the year. Doug and I both seem to react amazingly well to it ... so there is only a brief window of opportunity to explore this side of the park.

Today the trilliums were worth every panting effort.

A bicycle possessed

Carrie has decided that she likes mountain biking. This is way cool, because it means that we can all go mountain biking as a family activity.

Normally, this would be a really good thing. But for Carrie, mountain biking is becoming fraught with peril. Do you remember Calvin & Hobbes? Calvin's bicycle was possessed, and pursued him through various comic strips? And then the father went mountain biking and came home rather battered and bruised?

It seems that Carrie's bicycle is closely related to Calvin's. It is possessed. We went biking at Long Sault Conservation Area yesterday. It was a beautiful day -- sunny and warm. Perfect biking weather. We pedaled through the first half of the ride. Things were going well. Carrie had even pedaled up the first (killer) hill without stopping. Life was good.

The next stretch of the trail is referred to as "Joanna's Run" at our house because it is our friend and neighbour Joanna who introduced us to it. There's a challenging but do-able uphill, followed by a long and winding downhill. Twisty and turny. And fast.

Carrie is not a total adrenaline junky. She uses her brakes on the downhills. She tries to be careful. After all, she has gone over the handlebars before. She did not like it.

Yesterday she started down the hill, using her brakes. Going down hill, even with brakes, one tends to generate speed. And with increased speed comes more difficulty making turns. And on one turn, Carrie actually went a little wide. In the process of getting back on the trail ... well, no one really knows what really happened except the bike -- and it's not talking.

When Brandi caught up with her, Carrie was lying on the trail. The bike was doing a victory dance on Carrie's head. Carrie was face down, with her head pointing up the hill. The bicycle had her left foot pinned between the handlebars and the crossbar, and the back wheel (as mentioned previously) was bouncing on her head and shoulders. This part can be proven as there is a definite tire tread on the back shoulder of her shirt.

The good news? (I'm not sure that it really is good news I might add.) The bicycle was not damaged. The bad news? Carrie has a sprained left knee.

But you know what is truly way cool? Carrie wants to go biking again.

And for the record -- we are planning to get some holy water to sprinkle over the bicycle. It can't hurt, right?

Snuggles and Shawls

You know, I just don't get this picture up-loading thing. I tell the silly program to load one picture, followed by another. And I double check to see that the sequence is correct. But after it loads and I get to actually look at what I got ... the pictures are NOT in the order I wanted. I suspect that somewhere there is information on how to correct this. In the meantime, I'll just have to muddle along and try not to pull out my hair over it. Well, the brown ones anyway.


Henry and Meme are the best of friends. They do everything together. Even share the small kitty bed. I do note, however, that they are not sharing the bed and the sun-beam. Methinks it would be too warm for that this time of year!










I finished the baby set I was working on for the Durham Crisis Pregnancy Centre. This means that I get to start something for myself -- well, myself or my loved ones.

That alpaca yarn from the Knitter's Frolic called to me. Incessantly and without ceasing. In my dreams, I dreamt of alpaca yarn. Which can only mean one thing -- I must knit it.

This is 25 rows of my Whisper Scarf. Isn't this exciting? I wound the hank of yarn into a centre-pull ball. By hand and without a swift. (The yarn-winder is in a box in storage. I don't have a swift. I hope one of my children or my hubby is reading this so they will know what to get me for Mother's Day!) Playing with the yarn was heavenly. So soft ... Unfortunately, by the time the yarn was wound my play time was over.

So today I sat down with my pattern and my needles. 25 rows! I am so excited!

We will be visiting friends tonight and sitting around a bonfire. Alas. This is not the project to take to a bonfire. Sigh.

Shopping at the Knitter's Frolic

My dear husband delivered my purse to me at the Knitter's Frolic. With credit cards intact, I might add. What a good guy. And do you know what he said as he handed it off? "Have fun!" I think I've gotta keep him.

So with that admonition in mind, Phyllis and I began our serious shopping. Up til now, we'd just been browsing. Mind you, at a show like this it is best to browse first and then shop. It wasn't as though not having my credit card was a hardship until this point.

The yarn haul all came from Good Buy Yarns. At substantial discounts, I might add. In the upper left you see Magic Garden super-wash wool in a lovely aqua colour. It begged me to become a sweet sweater for my neice Emery. She is expecting a baby brister (brother or sister, we don't know which) this fall and I want to be sure that she knows that she is still loved. Heck -- I want to be sure that she remembers me. So the wool came home.

Followed by enough Zara (upper right) to become a sweater for myself. At Christmas I made some fingerless gloves for my daughter and really loved the wool. At 45% off, who could resist?

The lower left wool is three balls of Rowan Kid Classic. I *THINK* it will become a scarf, but ... it was too delightful to leave behind.

The green wool is called Smart super-wash. There are actually 17 balls of it, destined to become a sweater for my wonderful hubby. After all, a guy who drives 1.5 hours (with gas at $1.06 a litre) to deliver a purse with credit cards and says "have fun" deserves something nice. Green is his favorite colour, and he has pronounced this green will do. (Whew!)

But wait! That's not all! I also scored the Yarn Harlot's newest book, "Knitting Rules." It is hysterically funny. Phyllis and I browsed through it a bit and laughed. Loudly and long. Well worth the cash. I also picked up the Great American Afghan pattern. I've been reading about it on-line ... and the squares are too delightful to pass up. In fact, one or more of them will become the basis of sweaters.

I had also promised myself another pair of Addi Turbos in a size 2, which I did manage to find at last year's price. Nice touch, that. I was also looking for an visual/audio instructional aid for learning to use my drop spindle -- imagine that, the same booth from which I acquired my spindle had an instructional DVD.

The video from Philosopher's Wool? A door prize. Which I won. Can you imagine that?!? I was flabbergasted. (We won't mention that Phyllis won 2 door prizes, OK?) I have not yet watched the video, but am anticipating it greatly. Delayed gratification -- of which I seem to be a master -- makes the winning that much sweeter.

But wait! That's not all! The biggest coup of the day -- and also the biggest surprise -- is
I don't wear shawls. Really. I don't wear shawls. But when I fondled this Silver Cloud Alpaca lace-weight wool ... I wavered. I continued browsing. I went back and fondled. I wavered some more. And then I went looking for a pattern. I figure that even if I don't actually knit up the scarf, the purchase will have been worth it. The teen daughters are hoping to fondle my alpaca when I'm not around. Perhaps this will inspire my daughter to take up knitting? In any event, I have begun the slow descent into shawls. We'll have to see how far I go.

Quite a haul. Managed to fit all my purchases into the large plastic bags provided by Good Buy Yarns. I did sacrifice my knitting bag so that Phyllis could get her goodies home on the VIA train. Next year? We'll bring larger suitcases and more bags.

Weekend Adventures!

This past weekend has been an absolute blast. In spite of the ... um ... precarious start on Friday, the weekend developed into one of the best weekends in recent, and not-so-recent history.

For starters, my good friend Phyllis was coming to visit me. (She lives in Michigan, and works in the medical field by way of the University of Michigan Hospital.) This was the only weekend that she had available between March and the end of June. I was sad to think that my plans were going to cause us to cancel the weekend -- until I casually explained what I had planned.

The Knitter's Frolic, an event hosted by the Downtown Knit Collective.

Phyllis knits. Need I say more?

The plan was for Phyllis to arrive in Toronto on Friday evening by way of Via. I would arrive at Union Station at the designated time, we would travel to the proper hotel, and we would spend the weekend conversing, knitting, shopping, and relaxing.

Her train was scheduled to arrive at 21:15. We both interpreted it to be 11:15 pm. (Duh. No comments on our silliness, please. It only gets better!) She was en route when she realized that her arrival would be at 9:15 pm. Being the highly-intelligent person she is, she attempted to call us by way of her cell phone -- only to discover that she had no signal in the Via train. Darn!

She arrived at Union Station and attempted to call us. We had already left home, to deliver the daughters to their designated Friday evening entertainments. One was staying overnight with a friend; the other was to be met at Timmy's at 10:45 pm for the return home. There was a time frame to deal with.

In my excitement at going to the Frolic as well as meeting Phyllis, AND the excitement of the girls' in their evening adventures, we grabbed up our various belongings and rushed out the door. I grabbed my knitting bag and my duffle bag and we went merrily on our way.

At 9:00 pm, in Pickering, I discovered that I had ... um ... overlooked bringing my purse. Which contained Phyllis' cell phone number. To return home to retrieve my purse and then get me to Union Station by 11:15 while simultaneously meeting the daughter at the designated Timmy's at 10:45 was impossible. Did I mention that we don't have a cell phone? Nor does the daughter?

With cash in hand, I boarded the GO train at 10:00 pm, confident in at least meeting Phyllis. She'll have a credit card with which to check into the hotel. My wonderful and supportive hubby will deliver my purse to me (with credit cards intact I might add) in the morning, and all would be well.

Meanwhile, Phyllis has arrived at Union Station and attempted to call us at home. No one is there, because as mentioned above ... we are en route to the Pickering GO station by way of delivering daughters to their evening festivities. Phyllis, being the highly intelligent person she is (and I do say this sincerely), resolutely finds a spot and sits knitting calmly and waiting for me.

At 10:00 she decided to try to call the hotel where she HOPES I have made a reservation. I had mentioned that we were getting a really wonderful rate, but neglected to tell her which hotel. Ah, the vagaries of middle age. Anyway, she takes a gamble and calls a hotel. It is the proper hotel, they DO have a reservation for me, but I am, alas, not yet checked in. Cleverly, (I did mention she is intelligent, right?) Phyllis leaves a message for me.

Meanwhile, I have arrived at Union Station at 11:00 pm, after a 20-minute delay due to track maintenance. Frantic to be in the proper place when Phyllis' train arrives at -- with a sinking heart I realize that her train arrived at 9:15 pm. Where, oh where would she be? Would she be waiting patiently for me somehwere in Union Station? Would she have taken a cab to the -- oh darn, I didn't tell her which hotel.

I spend 20 minutes searching for her. Do not see her anywhere. Have the brilliant idea that perhaps she could be paged. GO personnel are wonderful, by the way. They listened to my tale of woe, and arranged for a page. Unfortunately, by the time a message goes out by way of the loudspeakers, it is unintelligible. Phyllis heard the page, but couldn't understand what it said.

She called my house again, and was able to speak to my dear husband. He advised her that I would be meeting her in the Great Hall of Union Station, that I should be there already, and he'd call her if he heard from me. Phyllis headed resolutely up to the Great Hall.

Meanwhile, I called the hotel. Yes, they had my reservation. No, no one had attempted to claim it. But they DID have a message for me from someone named Phyllis. Did I want to hear it?

Thinking clearly for possibly the first time since my arrival at Union Station, I left a message for Phyllis that I was heading for the Great Hall and would (hopefully) see her there soon.

Then I called home. Yes, they had spoken to Phyllis. She was still at the Station, and would be waiting for me in the Great Hall. I barely hung up the phone and raced off to the Great Hall.

Wouldn't you know that the ball game would end (and hordes of people would flock into The Great Hall) just as I climbed up the steps into the Hall? All you could hear was people yelling "GO TORONTO!" Not being a baseball fan and it being 11:30 pm by now, I was somewhat less than thrilled. All those people and noise would make it difficult for Phyllis to hear me when I stood in the middle of the hall, crying her name plaintively, and then sobbing pitifully into my tissues that I had misplaced my best friend.

But you know what? Sometimes, wonderful things happen. I looked down the length of the Hall and there she was, sitting patiently and knitting. Not looking lost and lonely. Looking quite content and confident that her friend would meet her.

We look at each other and laugh at the silliness of ourselves in seeing 21:15 as 11:15. We laugh at how two intelligent women can be so silly over times. We laugh at how ridiculous it is for me to have forgotten my purse. We laugh with the sheer joy of being able to visit with each other. We take a taxi to the hotel.

We walk in and walk up to the front desk to check in. The young lady looks up at us -- and says "You must be the train ladies." Yes. Yes, we are the train ladies.

The Knitter's Frolic is on Saturday. Just to let you know -- we did make it to the venue. We came, we saw, my husband did deliver my purse and credit cards, and we shopped. There is photographic evidence.

Why am I not smiling? Actually, the photo snapped in the brief moment between smile and mouth open to explain that one must hold the button down until the flash happens. A split second before, and a split second beyond, I was smiling from ear to ear. And giggling.

It was a good day.

Tomorrow I'll tell you what I got. And for the record -- that pile of purchases belongs partly to Phyllis. Also, we each brought a bag of knitting with us for those few moments when we sat down.

Ah ... what a day it was. We're already planning for next year.

Where does the time go?

I can't believe that it's been 11 days since I posted last. Where DOES the time go?

In part, it went to a relapse of the creeping crud. One must remember not to over-do the recovery activity. Two days of cleaning house and being chipper and on the move resulted in three days of heavy sleep requirements. The good news is that I'm (once again) on the road to recovery.

Also, a distant cousin of mine departed this earth last week. The services were Monday morning in Windsor. Funerals are sad and happy occasions. It gives the family the opportunity to reacquaint themselves with each other; to remember the good times; and to assist the grieving in their loss. This particular event was especially poignant for me. The last time I saw these folks was something like 17 years ago -- it was a family get-together (not a reunion because they last for days, and not a picnic because they last for a weekend) when both my sons had the honour of being the only two kids that fell into the swimming pool. Separately. Of all the kids there -- and there were a lot -- mine were the only two who fell in. Nice. Oh, yes. We also learned that weekend that I don't walk on water. I tried. And failed. Same time the younger one splashed into the shallow end. I was on the other side of the pool and took off to rescue my baby.

Monday evening the family gathered at the Kildare House, owned by another cousin. I had heard tales of this pub, but not had the opportunity to visit until Monday. It was great. They have Guinness beer. They also have a multitude of family photos on the wall. Said photos include my grandfather on his way to WWI, returning with his war bride, with my father as a youngster, my great-grandmother and many cousins. All in all, it was a nice trip to Windsor.

Since my return Monday evening, I haven't done much of anything. Slept. A little bit of knitting and putzing around the house. But nothing spectacular. I have learned one thing, however, and it is an interestng tidbit.

When I am knitting a project for myself or family (i.e., NOT for a charity donation), I knit more slowly. It takes longer to really get into mood of the project and to finish it. I do wonder what this says about myself. Any ideas?

This may not look like much ...

But it represents a very real and dramatic milestone for my house.

You see the kitchen. Doesn't it look nice and tidy? The dishes are washed. The stovetop reflects light. (Well, it WOULD reflect light if I were standing right over it with the flash!) The crockpot holds tonight's dinner, simmering away nicely. What you don't see is that the floor has been vacuumed and scrubbed. The dishwasher has been run. You also don't see the laundry hanging outside on the clothesline, nor the honking huge basket of towels that was put away.

What does all this tidiness mean? Quite simply, it means that I am feeling better. LOTS better. After a week of wearing my nightgown and housecoat, sleeping endlessly, blowing my nose constantly, consuming copious amounts of generic cough medicine, sneezing, moaning about not feeling well, staring bleary-eyed at the world, and in general being a miserable patient,

I AM BETTER!

OK. I'm not yet at 100%. But certainly better. Well enough that I did housework for the first time in a week. Well enough that I actually went for a walk outside -- a brisk walk at that! Well enough that preparing food for the other residents of my home didn't seem like an unreasonable risk! Yes! I'm better!

And even better than feeling better is having completed yet another Dulaan project.

This little sweater (no, it is NOT the same sweater from two weeks ago) was giving me fits. Not because it was difficult. Not because I was bored with the endless stockinette stitch pattern.
It was giving me fits because I was not entirely sure that I would have enough yarn to finish the last sleeve. And since the yarn was ... um ... old and from stash, I figured the chances of being able to even remotely match the dye lot would be impossible.

Fortunately for me (and some little toddler in Mongolia or Pakistan), I had just enough yarn to finish the sleeve. And I must say that I actually do like the stockinette in this sweater. The colour striping in the yarn was just enough to be interesting without the danger of making a mistake in my drug-induced haze of the last week.

And even better -- now that I've completed two projects for charity, I get to make something for me and mine. I feel another Christmas project coming my way. I am *SO* going to be ready this year.