Saved By the Bra

Yesterday, while I was knitting the last little finger on the fingerless gloves I found myself with dainty size 2 needles all over the place as I went from needing them, to not needing them (and thus storing them hither and yon within my reach).

It was only hours later--hours after the finger was finished--that I discovered one of the needles nestled down the center of my bra. Wedged nicely, I might say. How I managed to get through half a day with a pointy needle aimed precariously at both my throat and my xiphoid process, I will never know. (I know all too well the pain of being stabbed by my own needles, but that's a story for another day.)

Do as I say and not as I do.

Behold, the lovely fiber I won on Michele's blog, and the sweet stitch markers she included as a surprise. Kind people make the world such a nice place, don't you think?

Thank you, Michele. I already know exactly what this Lanaloft is meant to be... and I'll be sure to share the process so that you can see how I've put them to good use.

-Marie

Rhyme

A Knitter's Saturday

by Marie Greene

The dishes are looming.

I'd rather be knitting.

The toilet needs cleaning.

Yet I am here sitting.

The laundry needs washing--

As if I didn't know.

I'll be there in a minute.

Let me finish my row.

The fall leaves are blowing;

they've lined up at the door.

I'll tend to them soon,

Just a few stitches more.

The shopping awaits,

and the bills should be sent.

But these cables, they blind me

to things such as rent.

I'll re-stock the pantry

and shovel the snow,

If you'll just let me get to

the next decrease row.

At last! I can stop now.

The bind-off's in place.

Grab my purse, grab my keys,

Comb my hair, wash my face.

Leave the house, shop for food.

Pay the bills, buy a broom.

Come home, do my chores;

Tidy up every room.

Fill my mug, have a seat.

Grab a skein (chocolate brown).

I cast on sixty-eight,

and the

clock.

slows.

down.

Knots

This morning--in the shower--I started thinking about knots.

Fibers have a tendency to self-destruct when they're held too long in captivity; they have a show of protest by forming knots. I understand this behavior, as I tend to get a few kinks myself when things don't go my way. Like tumors, they infect a perfectly healthy skein and remain undetected until they are called into active duty; and by then sometimes it's too late.

Knots don't respond well to aggression. I know this because I once tried arm wrestling a knot and I lost. They can, however, be coaxed into submission with a gentle hand and a bit of patience (as we all can).

The truly stubborn ones require a pair of scissors, and which of us hasn't needed to make a clean break now and again?

(For no apparent reason my cat is biting me as I type--and not in a friendly way.  This reminds me that I have at times attempted to use my teeth to work out a knot. Chances of success are about 50/50 if you use this method.  The lesson here is that sometimes you've just got to sink your teeth into it.)


And then there are those moments--you know the ones--when there is just no saving the thing. You've coaxed, prodded, chewed, and waltzed, but it's just not going to budge. Even the scissors fall short of ultimate rescue. When that inevitable moment comes, one develops a primal urge to claw at it one last frantic time and then issue a guttural roar (which may sound something like @#!%@!).

In a swift devastating blow the knot is ushered away in disgrace, skein and all. A true spend-thrift would clip the usable threads and save them, but not me. If it goes that far the yarn is dead to me. Take a deep breath. Walk away.

Don't speak of it again.

One can learn a lot...from a knot.

-Marie

p.s. READ THIS! On a totally different subject, if you have a crafty blog and would love to get more comments on a consistent basis, please join Gabrielle and me with our PEAR Comment Love Project over at French Picnic. It's especially for crafty bloggers! 

Airborne

I was reading this post on Lilys House and it reminded me of an old blog post I wrote a long while back; which reminded me of this picture; which made me chuckle; which immediately made me think of re-sharing it so that you could chuckle too.

Sometimes a hearty jump and a big grin are in order on a random week day.

Here's to being able to laugh at ourselves,

-Marie

(Catchy Title Here)

I am pooped. Too pooped to think of a catchy title for this post, apparently.

I've been getting up early with my husband for his nursing clinicals (which provides valuable knitting time), but it means that the lights go out a littler earlier at night than I'd like. It's only 10:30 and my eyeballs are crawling off to bed without me.

But before I go...

My brother--the one who was originally getting the horrible giant house socks for Christmas--made a special request. (We knitters love us a good knitting request, don't we? It makes us feel like we're somehow coming to the rescue in an important fiber crisis.) His project will be unveiled eventually--once I work out a few of the kinks. So far it looks a bit like this....

Any Corvette fans in the house? 

Regarding the flaps: they were wrong, all wrong, and the wrongness couldn't be borne. They are now a figment of your (and my) imagination. But thank you most sincerely for your valuable fashion feedback. The cabled hat--sans flaps--is quite cozy.

I recently discovered that I think in commas. I am aghast at the flagrant littering of commas in every-which corner of my writing. Completely unnecessary. No rhyme or reason. Every time my thoughts pause I place a comma.  I almost did it again except that I caught myself. Apparently it's very important for all of you to take ample breaths while reading my blog posts, and the commas provide you with this life-saving break. Yet... in spite of their respiratory support I find them annoying.

I also happen to really like to use dot, dot, dot....

My goals for the next week are to:
a) Finish one more Skull Hat
b) Send off a little surprise for a sweet friend
c) Finish the last inch (INCH!!!) of the fingerless gloves
d) Start on a pair of fingerless gloves for my youngest son (I hope)

Alrighty then,
-Marie

p.s. I will write out the fingerless glove pattern for you. Right now it's on bits and pieces of scrap paper, but it will soon be fit for public consumption. Maybe by the weekend? Stay tuned.

The Great Flap Debate

No flaps:

Flaps:

Methinks flaps are silly.

Maybe it's better without?

I hadn't counted on the fact that there's such a fine line between whimsy and ridiculous. It would take two seconds to pull the flaps out (the best feature of knitting, in my opinion, is how quickly one can frog an entire project as if it never existed).

Perhaps I'm too serious to wear hat flaps?

Or maybe not.

-Marie

p.s. Is it just me, or does this hat have a bit of an aviator thing going on? Maybe I should knit another in brown and change my name to Amelia...

Molecules

I admit it.

Sometimes I wake up in the mood to torture inspire myself by reading the blogs of those who are doing something I would like to be doing today.

Like living in Cairo.
Or being a deliciously creative French chef living in New York.
Or a fashionable artist in Canada. 
Or traveling around the north-west of France.

If I had my druthers I'd be a traveler; an adventurer; a do-er of everything worth doing.

What separates the thems from the us's is nothing more than the daily doing of whatever brings a person one step closer to the dream. The daily doing is the dream, in fact. I've determined that the story is not the last page but rather the opening of the book that holds the map; that sparks a thought; that feeds the hope; that forms the molecules that create the dream.

Sometimes I forget. We all forget now and then.

After all I didn't get to Paris by skipping ahead to the good parts of the story. It was a hundred nights with my French verb conjugations; tens of episodes of Coffee Break French; watching French subtitled films until my eyes bugged out; and always staying one step ahead of the logic that threatened my hair-brained schemes. The dream of Paris was really a thousand little dreams that took place in the regular doing and being of ordinary days.

And so I ask myself this: What can I do today to live in the molecules, in the knowledge that one day those molecules will form together to create something extraordinary?

And you? How do you live in the molecules?

-Marie

p.s. My scrumptious hat is nearly finished. I'll show you tomorrow.