Birth of a …

baby blanket and a dynasty, all in one night.

Tonight I finished the baby blanket from hades. It was miles (ok, only inches, maybe even feet) of stockinette. Yet, for the last few months, it has mocked me. It mocked everything I want, am working towards, am worried about, and don’t have yet. It took up space in my project basket. It stared at me daily querying why oh why don’t you love me. It’s soft fuzziness made me sneeze. It’s squishiness made me go down needle size after needle size so that little tiny baby fingers didn’t poke their way through the fabric. I knitted this blanket with love. I knitted it with hope. I finished it while watching the Red Sox play the first and fourth games of the World Series. Given that the baby in question is going to be a die hard Red Sox fan, I’m sure some day his momma will tell him the story of this series, of this fan by marriage, of this blanket.

Tonight is also the birth of a baseball dynasty, as the Red Sox win another World Series. I sit here, a Mets fan, weeping with joy. Of course, that joy might come from getting to watch Jonathan Papelbon in spandex. The world may never know.

Pictures of said baby blanket will be forthcoming when it is washed and blocked. Now I will watch the Red Sox celebrate and celebrate for myself the fact that I can go to bed at a regular time tomorrow night. Go BOSX!

Musicalknitty

Ever since I picked up yarn and needles, I found that knitting, albeit something I don’t do every day, fulfills a need within me. I’ve tried to determine exactly what it is about knitting that intrigues and captures my imagination so much. A few months ago, in an online knitting group, one of the women mentioned that she had picked up the violin. It was at that point that my love of knitting clicked.

For 15 years, I played the violin. Note, I use the word played. I was ok at it but never great. I would perform, but I was never dedicated enough to practice so regularly that I would become anything other than passable. While for many people I knew, the instrument was a ticket to a college application essay or a lifestyle, for me it gave me something that I enjoyed. I would identify myself as “someone who played the violin,” but I would never call myself a “violinist.” Violinists have pinache. They have style. They have talent. I plugged along. I practiced when I wanted. I played with music; I didn’t dedicate my life to it. I loved the community of being in an orchestra or in the pit of a musical (although usually for the Upright Bass, not the violin). I loved riding the creative process, even if only sitting shotgun instead of driving. I loved giving my own interpretations to phrasings, trills, and dynamics. I enjoyed being a part of history by playing the same music that people had performed hundreds of years before me. I enjoyed updating the violin repertoire with things from bluegrass to rock. The highlight of my “career” was playing in an acoustic fest with a friend in college. We (mostly he) wrote the arrangement, and I have to say, I kind of rocked the house that night. I began at the age of eight and fell in love with music. My love of music remains, but, sadly, my stage fright and the fact that the noise of the violin freaks out the dogs have put a damper on my practicing. In other words, these days? I stink. That being said, there’s nothing quite as fulfilling as the feel of my fingers on the fingerboard and the smell of rosin wafting out of the violin case that’s just been opened after sitting for some time. Every so often, when life gets too stressful, I still pick up the instrument. However, these are those moments when nothing can quell the storm in my mind. Focusing on the little black dots and lines becomes a different world for me where time drifts away and sound - be it in tune or not - is the only thing that surrounds me.

One day, after reading about the woman in Knit Knack who played the violin, I realized that for me, knitting has that same magic. There’s rhythm to it. The needles move in and out in the same way the bow strokes the strings of the instrument. My mind can get lost meditatively in counting stitches and following patterns the same way that it used to get lost in paying attention to the black lines, the crescendoes, the decrescendoes. Since I knit continentally, in retrospect, the sweep of the right needles is similar to the sweep of the bow. The feel of the yarn threading through my left hand is similar to the feel of the metal strings underneath my fingertips. Colors replace sounds. Textures replace dynamics. Stitches replace those grooves on my instrument’s fingerboard to where my fingers always intend to go but which they don’t always remember or find. In the way that the notes make a song, the stitches make a fabric. The meditative quality of getting lost in something greater than myself is there. Sure, it’s just a scarf or a minuet, but it’s more. Others before me have done the same thing. I connect to history; I connect to myself. I connect to my past; I connect to the world. The community is the same with people coming together to work with a single mind on a single project - be it a knitalong, a Mystery Stole, or a slogalong. Women (and sometimes men!) congregate together to discuss, to share, to form friendships. My knitting friends are my quartets. My knitting group is my orchestra.

To me, music is a part of my life. I hear songs that I’ve played, and I remember the locataion where I was, the point in my life where I was, the things I was doing, and the people with whom I was doing these things. Knitting is the same way. I look at the blanket I’m making for my friend’s baby. I remember sitting in my knitting group. I look at the scarf I carry every day, and I can see myself sitting in the Bradley airport ripping out a week’s worth of work, sitting on a couch in a B&B in Kilkenny knitting quietly, sitting on a stone bench in Dublin waiting for my husband. I look at my yarn that I’ve bought or received from trips in the same way I look at my instrument. They are special, unique, precious. I’ve picked up my violin maybe five times in the last five years, but I think about it most days. I pass it on my way to get dressed in the morning because I need to know where it is. My yarn and needles are the same way. They need to be accessible. They need to be there in case I need to be calmed, to medidate, to recuperate from life.

 Knitting to me is more than yarn and needles. It transcends the act to become more for me. Playing the violin was never a burden. It was always more than the instrument. It was the act of doing and being. It gave me a place in the world at a time when I needed one. I may never be a Knitter, but I hope that I will always knit. For me, there is a musicality to knitting, a musicaliknitty or musical rhythm that only it can provide for me.

Let’s Go! Red! Sox!

Woof woof woofwoofwooooof! (JD and Max celebrate the Red Sox winning the ALCS at 12:30am Monday morning) JD was a bit tired by this point, but there’s nothing like watching Theo receive the trophy:

Max was more excited though:

Just Another Manic Sunday

The simple cabled gauntlets are finished! They’re squishy and soft. The cabling was pretty easy. As today was hectic beyond all reason, this post will be short. The second gauntlet’s thumb came out much better than the first one’s. I managed to pick up the stitches without creating a gap. I managed to do the gusset without creating holes. I’m a little sad that when I put the little buggers on the fabric stretches across the palm and it looks like there are some ladders that don’t show when the gauntlets aren’t being worn. That being said, they make me all kinds of happy. They’ll definitely come in handy when I’m sitting in the chilly house or in the chilly veal fattening pen where I hold my office hours.

 I have some other ideas kickin’ around in my brain, but currently it’s too much effort to put them down in the thoughtful way that they deserve. Or don’t deserve, depending on how you feel about my random bloggings!

Finishing Off the Week

Sunday the cabled fingerless gloves were started. The pattern is easy. However, this involved a lot of “firsts” for me. First time I used DPNs. First time I did a fully cabled project. First time I did a gusset. Some of the firsts worked out better than others. I can’t find any ladders from the dpn knitting. Score one for me. I didn’t have any problems working the cable pattern. Score another one for me. I had some issues with the thumb. Stupid thumper. First, I didn’t realize until I was pretty far into the gusset that I had done the “make one” wrong. I know, tink you say. Several problems arose when that idea faced me head on. First, I have a tendency to mess up the unknitting process. So frog it down you say. (Yes, I hear your voices being all indignant.) The issue with the ripping it out is that, well, I’m still not confident enough that I can figure out how to get the row correctly when trying to place a circular needle into the row I want. Also, no additional dpns at the time. Plus, I saw the wee little holes and figured I could cover them up when I wove in the ends. Which I mostly did. However, the problems with the thumb had not quite ended. The pattern states to pick up three stitches when you start the thumb tube. I did this. I think on the next one I might do four. I wasn’t particularly jazzed with the gaping hole I created that then had to be fixed when I wove in those ends as well. There’s still a little gap from my mistakes. All in all, not too shabby for a first time non-scarfer. I think I’m a little addicted to these gauntlet/wristlet/fingerless glovey things. They’re FAST. They’re FUN. And in the Malabrigo with all its squishy goodness? They’re WARM. So, hopefully, with some solid knitting and a little time this weekend, I’ll be able to finish the second one and have a completed pair by the end of the weekend. Here’s to hoping.

Oh, you didn’t think I’d let you go without a picture of the “grand”accomplishment, did you? Ha ha, silly reader.

Near (said in Grover voice)

Far (also said in Grover voice)

Sunday Sale Surprises

I loves me some good alliteration, and since today is Sunday and the sale was a surprise, I couldn’t help but post under this title. kNew England Knitter sent me the email last night that an LYS was having a 25% off sale. Now, I’ll admit to having my own set of issues with the Unnamed LYS; however, 25% off ALL YARN?! Even I don’t have enough principles to turn that down. Plus, this store has Malabrigo at a pretty reasonable price, and as you my faithful readers know, I have been turned into a true believer. I’ve just been waiting to get some of this on sale. I really want to go back and get more now, too. I’m a little tempted.

So, I shuffled my happy little patootie down to the LYS expecting nothing less than my general go in to buy something, leave frustrated experience. I walked over to where the Malabrigo lives and…NOTHING! Fear not, however, I persevered. The Malabrigo was not on the shelf but had been subjected to a plastic tub and some hanging up on a metal bar. Poor sad yarn sitting all squooshy like in the plastic laundry tub. I wanted to save it. It was like looking at a cardboard box full of puppies. You know they need good homes, but your town (or stash storage in this case) only allows 2 or 3 per household and you’ve already hit your max limit. (And yes, the Max limit here has been reached as far as dogs are concerned, pun fully intended) So, I scooped up some just to give it some love.

Going in, I knew that I wanted at least one skein with which to make some fingerless gloves. I’d had my eye on both Fetching and Dashing, but really wasn’t sure. I fell head over heels in love with Vaa colorway

In person, it’s a really deep green with hints of blue colorway. It’s perfect for making something cabled to give it that “Irish” look. I’m currently still in love with all things Ireland. Can’t help myself.

Then I tried to find something else that I loved equally. Now, I openly admit that I was a woman on a mission. I wanted me some Malabrigo, and darnit, nothing was going to stop me. I looked and I hemmed and hawed. There was a beautiful light blue. There was a lovely seafoam green. After Vaa though, nothing was going to make me quite as happy (and there was only one skein of that in the whole store). There was a lovely brick/clay red color. Alas, that’s not my favorite. I looked around. I kept, however, coming back to this one:

What, you ask, prompted me to buy a colorway that consists of baby poo green and barf orange-yellow? Well, I kept thinking, in my memories of Ireland, about this:

and this:

See the similarities? I do. The non-yarn pictures are Connemara, Galway, Ireland. When DH and I went to Ireland over the summer, Connemara was the area that captured our imaginations the most. It’s bog country. They still harvest the bog to be used for fuel. According to a young woman who grew up in Connemara that we talked to in a pub , the area is about twenty years behind the rest of the country. Connemara is the area of Ireland that people think of as being rural, sheep country. Indeed, this is where I nearly creamed a sheep with my car. I know. Beware. However, in my defense, he ran towards the car and then baa’d indignantly at me. But I digress.

The Malabrigo colorway reminded me of Connemara. With that in mind, I had to purchase two skeins. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them, but I did promise DH a hat. Unfortunately, given the handwashing requirements of Malabrigo, I don’t think he’ll be getting a hat out of that for snowblowing. But maybe he will. We shall see.

I also bought a set of Size 7 DPNS, some Trekking XXL in black and gray, and a 32″ Addi Turbo for learning Magic Loop. The LYS owner was really helpful in getting me all situated to learn Magic Loop knitting. My concern being my elbow nerve issue and inability to deal with metal needles. Yes, I realize Addis are metal. However, she said that they’re not too bad for her. I don’t usually trust her, but I’ll give it a go. If I hate it, I hate it.

I got home and decided that I wanted to cast on my brand spanking new fingerless gloves. However, I couldn’t use Fetching because I’d only bought size 7 dpns (they didn’t have 6’s in the store). I decided to look around on Ravelry . Ahh, the joys. That’s where I found Symmetrical Braided Gauntlets. So, I did what any excited knitter with some Malabrigo would do - I cast on for them.

See?

New camera. Sorry for the fuzzy picture. Maybe it’s just the yarn because here’s something extra-special to show you.

See that? Know what the would be? Yeah, that would be where the dpns join. Look! No. Ladders. I rock. The first time being a tight knitter has come in handy. The color in this picture? Totally realistic.

As for the rest of my Sunday, one of my Fantasy Football teams is losing; one is winning. The one that’s losing? The person I’m playing doesn’t care and two of her players are on bye weeks. I could cry over that one. My perfect record in that league is ruined. I only hope my other team makes up for it. If I say, “stupid Peyton stupid Manning stupid Tom stupid Brady stupid” I’m sure other fantasy managers would understand.

Pedagocial Slavery

Today, a professor from my law school alma mater was asked to take a leave of absence. The long and the short of the situation was apparently this (if you read through the comments, a student in the class enlightened everyone, in detail, as to what happened and it is not the same as the article itself): during a class discussing legal remedies available to plaintiffs, the professor asked whether descendants of slaves today were better off than their counterparts still living in Africa. Since the purpose of remedies is to make people equal to where they would have been without the injustice, the extreme argument is that if ancestors were never brought here, then their descendants would still be in Africa. At the same time, he showed a video with an interview by a pimp showing how the pimp treated prostitutes as his slaves, controlling their money and living situation. His point was that slavery still exists in this country. When the interview ended, it overlapped with a screen shot of a woman in a provocative stance, scantily clad.

Apparently, several students were incensed not just over the video but also over comments made by other students in the room. Those not in the room are unable to attest as to the comments made. One of the many issues is that the professor was asked to take a leave of absence for the rest of the semester starting immediately. This particular professor is well-known on campus for many things - being a bit of a lech, being intellectually provacative, pushing students’ buttons, being loved, and being hated. Regardless of whether one likes or dislikes his pedagogical philosophy, the issues seem to be partly of academic freedom and partly of administrative respect.

Academic freedom, agreed, needs to flow in two directions. Teachers in higher education need to be allowed to present information in the way they feel will best educate their students. Now, when faced with a roomful of students staring back blankly, a professor will often do whatever he/she can to incite students to participate. Birmingham, the professor in question, is one of those educators. His pedagogical approach is to present an extreme argument meant to inflame emotions. Often, he pushes students to the extreme in class to make them articulate an argument. Students are/were often insulted by his point of view. However, it should be noted that his personal point of view was never made public to students until after graduation. He would often play both sides of a single argument tryiing to elicit a logical, reasoned response from a student.

This particular professor disregards arguments that have no logical reasoning behind them. His goal is to incite riot, then shake out the gut reactions in a logical fashion. Although his classes are not formal in the sense that they are not rote memorization, they teach valuable skills such as thinking on one’s feet and explaining oneself clearly and logically. For some students, his methods open their minds in ways that they have not previously experienced.

His methods may be unorthodox. Indeed, he may even have sexually harassed some female students. Both of these arguments have supporting evidence or testimony, be it formal or informal. His reputation precedes him on the campus. There is a choice whether to take his classes or not, except for the one required class he teaches every two or three years. There is merit in having someone such as him in an academic environment intended to elicit new thinking and problem solving.

While students must feel comfortable expressing their opinions in class, one of the issues that seems to be creeping into the conversations attached to the article is that the students whose views insulted others in the classroom were not shut down to restore calm in the classroom. This is a thin line to walk. At what point does not allowing students to voice potentially insulting viewpoints compromise their abilities to feel comfortable expressing their opinions and participate in their education? Moreover, if students are offended in a classroom setting in which the educator openly welcomes debate, why can they not speak up for themselves to debate students who are making the obnoxious comments? Yes, the educator is in control of the room. Yes, the educator should be aware of classroom dynamics. However, since these are law school students, they are at least 22 years of age and already well-educated adults. At this age, they should be able to stand up for themselves. This seems to be a symptom of young people not being willing to take responsibility for their feelings but to expect someone else to intervene on their behalf to make things better for them. At some point, students need to be able to take responsibility and stand up for themselves as opposed to hoping someone else will fix the problem. Part of the educational process is learning how to respond to others in society.

The second major issue in this situation is that of the reaction of the administration. The comment by a current student indicates that this incident took place in an Evening Class (there are Evening and Day Divisions at the school). The current Dean decided to request that the professor leave. A campus meeting was held for students to discuss their concerns. The meeting was at 5pm on a week night. At 5pm, most Evening Division students are still at work. Most cannot afford to take time off of work to attend a meeting on a campus to air feelings. They have other responsibilities. This is just one incident of treating one group of students as “less than” on the campus.

The disconcerting aspect of this situation is that the cause of the request to leave lies in insulting a group of students. However, the administration feels that it is not necessary to incorporate the views of another group of students that could not attend the campus meeting. There was no attempt to make the meeting convenient for the Evening Division students who were directly affected. This is a pattern of behavior with this Dean that existed back when he was Dean of Students, and Evening Division education requirements were not as elaborate as Day Division, thus creating a “less than” education. The requirement issue has since been rectified after students fought for their rights; however, this willingness to only listen to those students whose opinion he respects and agrees with continues.

This is, perhaps, a more insidious issue example of student academic freedom. One group of students being considered less than the others - less dedicated, less worthy - implies that only certain viewpoints will be heard. This compromises the education of these students who pay equal tuition to those who are there full time. Why is it that these students’ views are considered not equal to those of the full time students? Why is it that their voices were not allowed to be heard? This is a situation in which beliefs and rights are stifled. This is no different than what Birmingham allegedly did by not controlling one group of ideas in support of another. This makes the administration, in some respects, worse than the professor being asked to take a leave of absence. The administration is, in effect, hypocritcal. It will request a professor resign for not being sensitive to student concerns and yet does the same thing.

In the end, the issue regarding reparations for descendants of slaves was the issue being discussed in the class. The professor’s tactics and control of classroom dynamics may have been an issue; however, it is his right as the professor to conduct his class the way he wishes. It is the right of the students to complain. To request him to leave because he did not require students to conform to one set of beliefs, however, is a version of slavery. The Dean is the pedagogical pimp, controlling the teacher’s money and his teaching situation. It is nothing more than pedagogical slavery.

Blinking, Knitting, and LOLDogging

Perfect fall weekend. Changeover to new trash system starting on Monday (meaning no massive cleaning). What does all of this mean? FOOTBALL, KNITTING, READING and…karaoke. Yup, the random conglomeration of activities that describe my life.

Friday night we went to Koy (the bar attached to a local Chinese restaurant) for karaoke. How much better does life get than opening a two performance sequence with All Jacked Up by Gretchen Wilson and closing with Anarchy in the UK by the Sex Pistols. That’s right. It doesn’t. Unfortunately, some of the regulars were extremely nonplussed by the idea of some good old fashioned punk rock blasting in a rather off-tune tone. It also didn’t help that anarchy had broken out in Baltimore and Boston about the same time as Anarchy as supposed to be “sung” in the bar. DH could barely contain his excitement at the Bosox winning the AL East. Either way, definitely good times. Definitely.

Knitting and football are best ways to spend a Saturday or Sunday. Although Notre Dame did not win, they did manage to score a few TDs with Sharpley looking rather good. Thanks to Girl is Crafty , I had me some fantastic gold and blue yarn to work with in my humble attempt to make a Notre Dame scarf. Her football-along swap package came the other day with all the goodies thereunto appertaining. Talk about hitting the motherlode:

See that yarn? 5 skeins Wool of the Andes in blue, 4 in Daffodil to make an HP house scarf in Fighting Irish colors, which, incidentally, are also my undergrad alma mater colors. Also, notice those macadamias sitting there waiting to be eaten? Directly from the great state of Hawaii they are. Girl is Crafty felt that since I had to wait for my swap package while she lived the high life on a Hawaiian vacation, I deserved a little giftie from there as well. AWESOME. All other projects have been shoved aside for the making of said Fighting Irish rooting scarf, including the baby blanket for a little guy who was born a few days ago. At least, I know that I’m not the one holding up his birth. I was convinced for a brief time that he wasn’t planning on arriving until he had some hand knit goodness to keep him toasty warm.

Of course, nothing can go completely smoothly in this household. While I was looking over this week’s fantasy football matchups, a little Mr. Someone (Max) decided he wasn’t getting enough attention. There’s nothing like turning around after being desperately disappointed with the players that you’re going to have to play to see several projects pulled from their happy little homes, sitting on the floor, with one of them having the working yarn chewed off. Of course, being so proud of himself, he needed to have his picture taken and tagged.

 See that little bit of yellow and dark blue? Right, that would have been the chewed off scarf yarn from the Notre Dame scarf. Stupid Max. Stupid teething. Stupid.

I finished Blink before going to bed last night. I began thinking about whether blind grading of my students would be a good idea. One of the major themes of the book is that the more information we have, the worse our decisions become, at least when it comes to big decisions. Gladwell talks in depth about behind-the-screens auditions for different symphonies helping the maestros get better musicians because they are less focused on the visual aspects of the musicians’ playing or perceptions of how different genders play different instruments. This discussion harkened back to ye old law school days where in the larger classes, particularly in the first year, the exams were graded by number, and the professor did not know who was who until grades were entered. I began thinking about how my grading system of knowing students is both a positive and a negative for students. I tend to compensate for my personal feelings by doing the direct opposite of how I feel about them. In other words, if I really like you, I’m probably harder on you than if I don’t really like you. However, with writing and wanting to help students overcome their individual issues, this technque might not help them. Students’ personalities are one of the aspects of teaching I enjoy most. I enjoy getting to know the students and watching them grow over the course of the semester. I wonder, however, if I do any of them a disservice by getting to know them so well. I try to be as objective as possible. I have set standards for what I use as a grading system. I follow it as best I can. I weigh the aspects of their papers and usually give them the benefit of the doubt. For example, if 5 of the criteria for a C are met and 4 for a B, the student will end up with a C+. I try to keep things as mathematical as possible which is odd since I am not a math person whatsoever. I try to be as fair as possible, especially since writing can be viewed as extremely subjective and since I always hated that part of it when I was a student. However, do my personal feelings or the information I’ve gathered from students in class get in the way? According to Gladwell, most likely they do, at least subconsciously. How can I keep these from getting in the way? Should I perhaps employ, at least for the shorter papers, some form of anonymity? Should I try to get them to put their names on the last page of the paper instead of at the beginning so that I am truly grading each paper on its own merit without knowing who it is? Should I just resign myself to the fact that life isn’t fair, and I can’t always be fair? I can’t change it for this semester. I may talk to some other teachers I know both in and out of school. However, the impact of my subconscious on something potentially life-changing for my students is beginning to concern me. In the alternative, maybe I’m just overthinking things. Anyone with any ideas would be welcome to help me work through this logic problem.

Now that I’ve decided to solve yet another of the mysteries of the universe, since today is a perfect football Sunday, I should go watch my fantasy teams lose on a beautiful Autum day.

Extreme Makeover - Living Room Edition (and Sundry Sunday Knitting)

On October 25, we will be living in our house for five years. As of last night, we have our first fully adult furnished room. By “fully adult furnished”, I mean that we purchased, instead of inheriting, furniture that did not require little tools and that all looks, if not the same, at least, similar. This weekend’s life changing event all began in March of 2006. We had cleaned out our sunroom and thought about what we wanted to do with the living room. Our living room felt cramped and small. The television armoire we had purchased prior to moving into the house towered over everything else in the room, nearly touching the ceiling. It sat mockingly in the middle of the room. It even uttered the occasional fee fie foe fum at me. We bought one that had doors to hide the television because we thought that would make the room dressier when we had company. We were wrong. We closed the doors a sum total of about five times in the last five years. Namely, four Christmases and one other party. However, we were fussy about what we wanted in a new TV stand. It needed to have enough room to fit a cable box, DVR, Xbox and VCR. It needed to have doors to keep the dogs from eating said electronics. The doors needed to be glass so that we could change channels and play DVDs via remote without opening the doors. It needed to be not too long but not too short. It needed to be a dark reddish/mahogany color to match our apothecary coffee table from Pottery Barn which was one of our two pieces of non-hand-me-down furniture and a particular pride and joy. After eighteen months of searching through Ikea catalogs, Pottery Barn sales, and looking at entertainment centers wherever we went, some universal being of home makeovers intervened. At BJs Wholesale Wharehouse on Thursday, I found it. In all of its splendiforous glory . Even better? At BJs it was $250 less than it retails for.

Saturday was spent dismantling the monstrosity we previously owned. Piece by miserable piece, we took it apart. First the doors, then the back, then the sides. Miserable fee fie foe fumming monstrosity. Not realizing that the new entertainment center was already assembled, we prepared ourselves for the cursing and yelling and banging that usually accompanies furniture assembly. Note: All said grunting/cursing/banging is done by DH who refuses to let me help him when he gets frustrated. Miraculously, the entertainment center was fully assembled. Apparently, the caption on the box pronouncing “Real Furniture” should have alerted us to this pleasant surprise. We dragged it into the house and attempted to reconnect all the electronics. First try, everything worked, but the DVR remote didn’t change the channels. Second try, nothing worked. We broke down and called our good friend Doug who was willing to help out in a pinch, although I accidentally scared the bejeepers out of him by asking for help in such a timid manner that he thought someone had died. Poor guy.

This is what the new entertainment center looked like:

It looks lonely, doesn’t it? See that bookshelf to the left? It was an Ames (a store which is now defunct) specialty from eight years ago with one side starting to become unattached. See that side table to the right? It was inherited from an elderly relative. See all those things that seem to have no purpose sitting on both of them? They’re covered in dust. Lots of dust. I hate to dust. It’s…dusty and sneezy. However, the sadness of the new entertainment center emanated from it, begging us to bring it new friends who’d play nice. DH and I had a gift certificate to Pottery Barn. We looked on the Pottery Barn website, but end tables there are ex-pen-SIVE (as well as large). I started to look at Pier 1 Imports, but the website is a pain. DH, however, persevered. We found the Chili Tables online. DH suggested we run over there, after all it’s only ten minutes from the house. So, we booked it over there. Two floor samples, pre-assembled and ready to go. Only three total tables in the whole store, one of which needed to be put together. We paid and chucked them into the back of the PT Cruiser unceremoniously. We went across the street to the local mall, had some dinner, and went to Pottery Barn. We walk in and again, the universal being of home makeovers granted us another miracle. There, sitting, waiting to be taken away was the most perfect bookshelf ever. Dark wood to match what we already had. Beautiful. Better yet? On. Sale. I swear there was a halo of light emanating from it drawing us in. Again, we bought it. DH called MiL who thankfully drove her SUV over to help us bring the bookshelf home. I drove home ahead of them, let the dogs out, and emptied out the old bookshelf.

For the first time in our married life, we can look around our living room and actually say, “This is how we want it to look. We are adults.” We have left behind all college furniture. Almost all the freebies are gone from this room. Things match, or at least they match well enough to look like the effect was intended (as it is) instead of unintended. Our tiny little living room feels like it is twice the size. We are grownups. We are no longer children. We have dressed our home for the life we want to live here. It’s amazing what a little furniture can do.

Here is the living room now:

Doesn’t the entertainment center look happier with its new friends? And those lamps? Love them. Not handed down but wheedled out of my father. He’s awesome.

As for knitting, I have been baby(blanket) making these days. Once again, I’ve gotten to work on this project for my friend. I keep thinking that the more I work on it, the sooner I’ll be done with it, and the less I will think about procreation in my own life. But, alas, nope. This is too bad. The more I make this wee little blanket, the more I think about how it would feel to make one for a baby of my own. Even worse? Since the majority of it is mindless stockinette, I have a LOT of time to think about all of this. A lot. Thank goodness that by the end of tonight, I’ll be 75% done with it. It’s soft. I’ll grant it that. The mom will appreciate the hand knit quality of it. The kid will probably barf all over it since that’s what babies do. Of course, that’s presuming that I finish it before he goes off to college. The alpaca is making me sneezy and keeps getting fuzz all over my clothes. Since the little fellow hasn’t been born yet, there’s a chance, slim though it may be, that if he’s a week late in arrival, the blanket will be ready for him when he gets here. I know that making the blanket is making me think about all the “ifs” that go along with babies. I think that once this is done, I’ll hopefully be less intense about it. Maybe not. However, here’s to hoping! And here’s how it looks so far:

So, I guess that makes me a grown up. New furniture, baby blankets and all.

The Passion of the…

Ok, no, not Christ. Not that I’m against Christ; I’m a Catholic after all. However, really, is that what I would write about? You should know me better than that. If not? tsk tsk tsk.

The passion of the - Malabrigo and cable. Oh yes. Dear dear me. So, while my dream swatch is still hanging around, I realized that I wanted, nay needed, to play with the squishy softy wooly goodness of the Malabrigo that came to me as a little slice of heaven. The amount was not a full skein. It was meant to allow me to play around with something without feeling bad. So, given that Bella Blu Mama loves cables, I thought she’d be thrilled to know that I decided to give them a try with her generous gifty.

Once I had determined that cables were the place to be, I went to Stitch Finder (you may need to be logged in) on the advice of kNew England Knitter . I searched the cable stitches until I found something that met the following requirements:

1. Not too complex (i.e. not too many different types of cabling techniques involved)
2. Not too many stitches needing to be cast on (some required upwards of 30 cast on stitches and I didn’t want to use too much)
3. Something that looked, y’know, like a traditional cable.

In the end, I decided to use Retwisted Taffy as my first cable experience. Now, first you have to understand that this was a spur of the moment idea. Somewhat. Basically, I wanted to prove to myself that yes, I could do this! So, I don’t own cable needles. I decided to improvise. I have a Clover stitch holder thing that my mom gave me in a set of knitting nit knacks (avoid the pun…can’t…knit knacks…much better). I slipped the holder part off (a rubber thing) and used the needle part for the slipping of the stitches aspect. I only cast on an extra twelve stitches (six on either side of the eight required for the cable) and set to work. Oh. My. Goodness. So. Much. Fun. I, in my Celtic mode, was all about this. I have a new passion, cables. Working this pattern in the Malabrigo was a joy. The only problem is that because of the variegation, the cables do not come out so clearly. That’s ok though; maybe it’s even better that way.

In the end, the cables look like this:

I know, lousy picture. Even worse? That was the best of the ones I took of that view. I think we need a new digital camera. Either that or the camera is anti-knitting. Although, I can’t believe anything in this house could be anti-knitting. I refuse to believe it. Do you see those squiggles though? Those are my cables.

Of course, me being me, as I was knitting along, I realized, “dude, this is your first cable project girl. You don’t have enough for ANOTHER scarf. The yarn is too chunky to use as a bookmark. What do you do?” I know that in a lot of ways I’m a process knitter. I like the learning aspect. Even worse, I get bored of projects once the newness of the technique gets old. I hate the idea that I have several unfinished WIPs floating around the house. Not finishing things kills me. Every time I think of them just lying around, I feel a little piece of myself go “ouch!” However, I also like a project to have some kind of practical purpose. I suppose I could keep making little swatches of new stitch types and make a blanket. Then I wonder where I would keep these little squares and would they have to be the same size. I realize I could answer “no” to that last part, but I require things to be symmetrical, even, of like textures and sizes. This would not work for me.

So, sitting on the couch tonight, I realized that this was the perfect time to make a wristlet. Lord knows, I don’t know what I’m going to do with one. No, really, I don’t. However, I looked down and thought, “Well, a wristlet would be cool, but I don’t really want to seam. Oh! Wait, I know! I’ll pick up the stitches from the cast on and, since this is a practice anyway, try a three needle bind off.” I yanked my knitting books off the shelf. I skimmed through them. I read the directions which basically said knit through the two loops and knit the stitches together. Why, I ask myself now, why did this seem to difficult to me before? So, I picked up the cast on stitches. I started a three needle bind off. Of course, I don’t have DPNs. I don’t even have more than my set of Denises. So, I improvised. It looked like this:

Yup, that blue needle? That would be from the Clover stitch holder. The needle the other live stitches are on is a size 8 Denise. The one I used to bind off was the size 6 Denise needle tip. Talk about being ingenious and working with what ya got, right?

I was thrilled to find that the three needle bind off was not difficult. Even better? It totally beat the idea of using a sewing needle. I. Can. Not. Sew. My stitches aren’t even. I don’t like using needles of the sewing variety. I chalk it up to too many embroidery classes as a small child. Plus, I always poke my fingers with the needles and end up with cuts or something.

The end result of this bind off looked like this:

Yup, hard to see. I know. Stupid camera. That thin line to the upper right side there? At the top? Going kind of perpendicular to the rolling edges? That’s my bind off. I had one weird looking loose stitch, but I took care of that with the sewing in of the ends.

And this:

is my finished vaguely “punk rocky” cabled knit wristlet. I won’t extoll the joys of Malabrigo worsted weight wool on here. I think it goes without saying that I’m another convert. Although, now that I’m wearing my little wristlet, I’m feeling a bit itchy so it may not be in the cards for me to make many wearable for myself items out of it.  If I were cheesey, I’d be calling this my Red Red Whiney Wristlet. Or, maybe that’s just the pinot noir next to me talking.

In non-knitting news, the Maxman became, as DH calls him, a Maxeunich. Which, incidentally, when said fast, sounds an awful lot like Max-unit. In turn, that sounds vaguely like a bad porn name. He’s doing fine, mostly. Of course, he has diarrhea from the anesthesia (which apparently also happens to the in-laws dogs after they have surgery). MiL said it could last until Sunday. To think, here I was looking forward to sleep this weekend. max is maneuvering quite well with the cone. We’ve had to move a few things on the ground (some antique ceramic jugs), since the cone knocked them over. He seems to be whacking the cone on many a doorway. However, he’s moving more now, and he seems to be getting the hang of the difference in depth perception. That being said, watching him is pretty darn hysterical. He and JD are also on medicine for coccidia, another intestinal parasite, that was found in JD’s sample during her yearly exam.

In closure and in deference to Max’s trials and tribulations, I give you: