I've hit a new low

I always knit on the bus. Always. It makes the screeching of the three year old child whose mother is ignoring him fade off into the background. The woman who thinks the bus is her bathroom and uses her time on it to apply all of her makeup and spritz cheap perfume seems to virtually disappear. The man talking to himself ceases to be, at least in my little knitting fantasy world where everyone speaks in 'yarn pattern'. And the voices telling me to buy more wool aren't quite so loud.

So, my husband and I were on our way to the gym yesterday when I opened my bag to get my knitting and, to my horror, I discovered it wasn't there. I'd taken it out to put in my clothes that would be replacing my stinky, sweaty ones that would become stinky and sweaty after an hour and a half at the gym. It would seem that I had placed the bag containing my half finished gloves on my desk while I repacked my gym bag...and left it there. My husband, bless him, said not to worry because it was only another 20 minutes into town. TWENTY MINUTES! Twenty minutes without the thing that keeps me sane. Twenty minutes of listening to the screaming three year old. Twenty minutes of watching Makeup Girl curl her lashes, apply mascara, line her lips, apply lipstick, blot, apply lipstick, blot. Twenty minutes of wondering how the hell she doesn't ram her mascara wand into her eye when the driver hits a bump. Twenty minutes of hoping she does.

I made it to town. I'm not sure who was more frazzled, me or my husband for having put up with me. Before going to the gym, I had an appointment with my physiotherapist so off I went...and made a quick side stop at the charity shop that occasionally has a few balls of yarn for sale and always has a basket of knitting needles for 25 pence a pair and I found these little goodies:




I bought them. And I felt better.

I paid 50 pence for the yarn - acrylic, in case you're wondering so it will go into my stash for knitting vanilla ice cream colored preemie caps and socks - and was simply fascinated by the sheer length (14 inches!) of the dpns and just had to have them. I'll probably never actually knit with the things but the size of them is enough to start a conversation and scare the bejeezus out of my husband if I do dare ever use them.

The sad thing is, after all the time and energy spent lamenting about not having my knitting, people watching to the point of distraction because I couldn't knit to distract myself, and searching for something...anything...I could knit with, I didn't knit anything. I was just happy to have knitting supplies on my person.

This is the new low I have hit. I thought it was when I stalked a woman in the restaurant where I worked so I could figure out the cable pattern on her shawl. This has replaced it. I have to have workable yarn and needles on me at all times as a sort of security blanket. I might as well knit myself a nice little white jacket with sleeves that fasten in the back.

So if you ever see a woman on the bus muttering to herself and trying darned near anything to keep her hands busy, throw her some string and a couple of sticks. You'll either make a knitter who has left her project at home a very happy person or will be providing a crazy person the means with which to do herself serious harm. Or you. Either way, steer clear as those sticks need room to work.

And I will no doubt thank you for the string.

Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey and Sneezy

Okay, so I've got four of the Dwarfs down today and am working on getting at least two of them in; Bashful is not something that most could pin on me but I need to see Doc so I can be Happy again.

I've had a migraine for the last four days which is making me Dopey. The meds have made me Sleepy. The wet weather is bringing Sneezy into the mix. And finally, enter Grumpy. Grumpy is here because, not only am I in pain, but I also had to go into town today. There, I encountered people. Lots of stupid ones in large groups. It seems that when they gather, it's a requirement for them to spread out and block the way of others thereby prohibiting them from getting down the aisles in the supermarket, on the sidewalks (or footpaths, as known here in the UK), or into doorways of shops. I'm not a violent person by nature, but these folks were doing my head in and I was on the verge of bowling a few of them over in my quest for pain relievers. "Excuse me" wasn't working. "Pardon me" went unnoticed. I finally decided a light shove would do...so I did. It worked.

The bright spot in my day was at the charity shop where I found the coolest vintage ceramic coated pot, two Pyrex pie dishes, a La Parfait glass jar, and two lovely green drinking glasses that will probably become home to some of my knitting supplies. I'll post photos later when I can handle the light from the flash...

My husband would leave me...

My friend, Helen, came over today for a lesson in knitting socks with dpns.
The original plan was for us to meet at the coffee house in town at noon but at 10pm last night, my husband called to me downstairs. Seems our water tank was causing a bit of a problem and was leaking through the ceiling and all over the floor. So my plan of going into town was thwarted by a possible ceiling collapse and an impending visit from the plumber who will be here "sometime this afternoon". In the interim, we have no heat, no hot water, and some bits of stuff coming out of the pipes that I'd prefer not to consume (a great big thank you to Brita filters!). And no hope of getting into town since we all know that "sometime this afternoon" means around 6pm. In the meantime, we have buckets and bowls capturing the rust-coloured water that is dripping from the ceiling.

So Helen came to my house. When she got here I was making shortbread so I had a valid reason for turning and leaving the oven on in order to heat the downstairs. I made some tea and we sat down on the couch where she pulled out her cast on socks...and showed immediate distress.

"I have wool on four needles and an extra one left over. That's right, isn't it?"

I assured her it was and proceeded to show her how to join the yarn so she was, indeed, knitting a tube that would later become a sock and how to do so without twisting it. I knitted the first couple of stitches and told her that I would frog it so she could have a go.

"Oh, don't do that. I'll just work from where you've left off."

So she did. She did fine from that point on with the odd "I'm not sure this looks right" at which point I assured her that it looked as it should and would look better after a few more rows. I'm hardly worried about her; she's been knitting lace patterns and diagonal stitches at a point in her knitting career when others are still trying to figure out just what a purl stitch is. It would seem that no one ever told her she shouldn't progress until she's figured out the basics. I love that about her. We knitted until 2pm at which point she needed to leave to pick up her kids from school and, wouldn't you know it, still no plumber.

"It's a shame", said Helen. "I could have given you a ride into town had the plumber been and gone."

Before she left, I showed her my booty from the yarn stockist where they have the whole of their yarn department on sale. All of it. Every last yummy ball of 100% superwash merino and every ball of kid mohair. Every bit of Sirdar Cashmere Merino Silk. All the Luxury Soft Cotton. I pinched myself to assure myself I wasn't dreaming and once I wiped the drool from my bottom lip, I proceeded to the checkout with my findings. I only made it out with 10 balls of Sirdar Sublime Extrafine Merino but have plans for another trip when I get paid again. Helen said she was almost out of yarn and that she needed to stop by the store and get more whilst it's on sale.

"Out of yarn?" I asked? "I can't imagine that."

She said that she only buys enough for the project she's working on.

"But don't you have a stash?" I asked.

"A stash?"

So I showed her mine. First was the cabinet in the living room.

"Wow, that's a lot!", to which I replied that there was more upstairs. Raised eyebrows. Off we go to the computer room and into the wardrobe where I opened four drawers to expose various bits of fiber. She thought we were done when I left the room and she started for the stairs...or perhaps she was just frightened and was looking for a way out. No matter, I took her by the arm and into the bedroom we went where I opened a drawer of my dresser that was packed full. "Oh my." I told her there was one more place and took her to the guest bedroom where I pulled out four baskets, opened six nightstand drawers, a small trolley with two drawers, a rollalong case with enough yarn for a king-sized blanket, and a yarn tote with about 10 skeins in it.

"My husband would leave me." I think she'd gone white.

"Knitting isn't so much a hobby as an addiction", I told her. I think the only reason my husband hasn't left me is because I keep promising to knit him a sweater.

She left to go pick up her kids and we bid a fond farewell and promised to get together next week to check up on each other's sock progress. I still think she's a bit spooked, to be honest. I do hope to see her again...especially as she's borrowed two of my books.

It's now 5:45pm and I still haven't heard from the plumber. I've accomplished little today, aside from casting on for my husbands socks which I've been promising to knit him for two months. I haven't taken the dog for a walk because I know that the moment I get around the block, the plumber will ring me to say he's at my house and we'll have to turn around to come home.

The dog is depressed, I'm frustrated because this is the only day I can get into town until Saturday when I'm off from work and I have dozens of things I need to do there, and I've consumed way too much shortbread and coffee.

And it must be said: daytime tv sucks.

This is what boredom will get you

I have a problem. The first step is admitting it, right?

I can't seem to rid myself of leftover bits of yarn - no matter how small the bit - when I'm finished with a project. So I wind it into a ball, stuff it into a ziploc bag, and send it off to the yarn graveyard...that part of my stash that hasn't seen the light of day in ages, mostly occupied by acrylic yarns that I bought before I knew any better.

I was doing a bit of tidying up the other day when I found the dreaded bag of leftovers. I got that feeling I get when I find something tucked away in the back of the fridge and open it to find some sort of science experiment in which I wasn't aware I was participating. Still, I couldn't bear the thought of throwing it out. Rest assured, that is not the case with the aforementioned fridge goo. So what did I do? Enter the pompom! I sat at the computer watching online episodes of Dexter and wrapping little circles with yarn, then cutting and fluffing the little balls of yarn until my hands hurt.

Now, what to do with them? I mean, they're not particularly useful but they are kind of fun to look at, though not just piled up in on the table. I had a cute little bowl that was just sitting around, well, doing nothing but looking cute. It has now become the new home for my outlet for moments of jadedness and looks rather interesting as a decorative piece on my desk. At least the guilt I felt for being a bit of a hoarder has subsided...for now.

My name is Alex and I'm a stashaholic.

Charity Shop Finds

I found these six hanks of yummy green, 100% wool at the charity shop for 2.50 GBP. There's no information - no ball bands...nothing! - but for that price, I'm not terribly picky. I've been winding them into balls and have run into many little snarls and quite a few knots in the first hank but overall, I'm very happy with my purchase. I'm not sure what the wool wants to be yet but that's never stopped my from buying yarn.

Behind the yarn, you may also notice the bowl that the fruit is hanging out in. That's from the same shop and has 2 other siblings (3.75 GBP, all up), both tucked away in the cabinet. I was absolutely thrilled to find them as they are nearly identical to a set of mixing bowls that my grandmother used to have. I always wanted them but I'm certain my lunatic, kleptomaniac aunt took them and stashed them away in her overstuffed basement. If you've ever met her and subsequently found something has gone missing, chances are it's in her basement, along with anything not nailed down in hospital rooms (she's also quite the hypochondriac), hotels, and restaurants. That place is the size of a one bedroom apartment and is jam-packed with junk, with only a path from the stairs to the freezer; even the stairs have boxes stacked along the sides. When she dies, it will take a manned expedition and a few archaeologists to unearth what lies beneath. It's a scary place. The last time I went into that dungeon, I swear something hissed my name and tried to bite me.