The three-day spinning and dyeing intensive was more dyeing than spinning, more spindle than wheel, and it was a good time for me. I conquered my utter disdain for the spindle, made some more progress on the wheel, decided that maybe I would knit a sock every so often, and had a great time dyeing some lovely fiber with natural dyes.
What I don't have is pictures. My husband has been doing yeoman's work taking care of all four Things so I could revel in fiber, so he's tired; my course has continued apace in my absence, so I have work to do; and my dear little Thing 2 is getting on an airplane to visit her grandparents tomorrow. All by herself.
I might take pictures when I come home from the airport. Now I'm going to try to sleep and not worry too much in advance.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Thursday, June 7, 2007
To my adoring fans
Thing 4 thanks everyone for their compliments on her knitting.
Remember how suave I was feeling about getting those bees yesterday? Nice and easy, I said.
Today was . . . different. Maybe it was that Spouseman stayed up until 1:00, after having watched the city planning commission quite late for work, making two beehives for me to use today. Even though I went to bed relatively early, I didn't sleep soundly until he came to bed. Maybe it was that when I woke at 12:30 or so, I remembered that I hadn't filed a grade change form for one of my students. And it was late. Or maybe it was me waking up at 5:30 to go get the bees (nicely tied up by the homeowner) and then helping finish those hives. Think the neighbors liked hearing a table saw at 7:00 am? Thing 1 was indignant: "You said you were going to take me with you to get the bees!" "You said you'd changed your mind!" "I have no memory of that."
It was all a rush, as bee mornings often are. I'm worried that the tied-up bees can't get enough air, what with the box being wood and then them being wrapped in a sheet on top of that. I'm worried about the temperature creeping up and up as the sun goes higher. It's also our homeschool Park Day, which means food, and getting everyone going in the same direction, and things like that.
So, having shifted into Turbo Hurry mode, I checked one hive body, and noticed that the plexiglass view side was much higher, high enough to make the bars hang unevenly. So I used a saw to make parallel cuts vertically in it, and then snapped off the offending high edge. Fast.
With my thumb.
Fortunately, previous ER trips for stitches have convinced me that nearly everything can be handled at home with bandaids and superglue. But it hurt, and it was enormously stupid. Thing 1 brought me actual pliers for the remaining snapping.
Then, off to my sister's house. The "bad hive" -- the one that took two queens and killed them in favor of a laying worker, meaning that the hive slowly dies off as only non-foraging males are raised -- had to be addressed. Therefore two hives for one swarm.
I'd also put another swarm in a nuc box (a small, mini-hive) on her apiary shed roof a week ago, and they deserved a real hive too. Therefore the two hives. So I got almost all of my equipment up on the roof while the children played inside and she made lunch for her gang. I'd forgotten my smoker in the morning's excitement. I figured that since swarms are pretty benign, it wouldn't be a problem. Even if it was, I was up a shed roof without one, so I might as well hope for the best. I just had to climb down to get the very last thing, but with the ladder's help, took a faster route down by pitching off of the top rung right onto my bottom. I had enough time to shriek wildly and try to call my sister before hitting. There was something in my pocket -- the pliers? The bee brush? and it hurt a lot to land on. Looking on the bright side, I missed the terra-cotta plant pot with my head by a good few inches. Lying on the ground, counting your blessings and feeling the effects of your autonomic nervous system, is a good time to make resolutions about level ground and helpers with ladders. My sister came out and held the ladder after that. She hadn't heard the fall at all, which is probably a good thing. I thought about charging her double, but since double of nothing is. . . well, you know. So sometimes it's good that there's no video about. A wise beekeeper would remember that the next time she gets cocky.
Back in the saddle, I took the week-old swarm (now a real hive) from their box and set them up in the new hive. They were wonderful -- in a week, they'd made about 4-5 full combs and started filling them with nectar, although I forgot to check for eggs. I didn't see any capped brood. They were mellow and very nice, although the bees not on the combs, but left in the bottom of the box were miffed when I upended it and thumped on the bottom to dislodge them. A cloud flew up, and more were upset when I dropped the box off of the shed side.
Next, I moved the bad hive out of the way, placed the new hive in its place (different bar dimensions; we're still experimenting) and dumped the neatly-wrapped swarm in it. They did the usual fly around in circles thing, buzzing loudly. The bees from the bad hive got carried across the yard hanging on the bizarre comb they'd constructed, and then I intended to use the bee brush to get them off. As I began, however, one of some hive's bees got into my veil. Again. And again, as I tried to get it off, I got stung right on the face. Blast. There's a vague chipmunk vibe going on in my mirror this evening. Again, glad there's no video during this episode either.
After everything had settled down, I could tell that bees were trying to return to their old home and being checked at the door by the new swarm. Maybe they'll be accepted, maybe not. The hive had dwindled strikingly. It's up to the bees, now, fortunately.
After a quick trip to provision for the park, we finally arrived. And I worked on that sweater. Two parts, together at last!
One or two more repeats of the leaf pattern would have been smart, but hopefully some blocking will even out the bulgy look. On, it looks flattering on the recipient:
Since I'm all about learning my lessons, no bows until those sleeves are done.
Remember how suave I was feeling about getting those bees yesterday? Nice and easy, I said.
Today was . . . different. Maybe it was that Spouseman stayed up until 1:00, after having watched the city planning commission quite late for work, making two beehives for me to use today. Even though I went to bed relatively early, I didn't sleep soundly until he came to bed. Maybe it was that when I woke at 12:30 or so, I remembered that I hadn't filed a grade change form for one of my students. And it was late. Or maybe it was me waking up at 5:30 to go get the bees (nicely tied up by the homeowner) and then helping finish those hives. Think the neighbors liked hearing a table saw at 7:00 am? Thing 1 was indignant: "You said you were going to take me with you to get the bees!" "You said you'd changed your mind!" "I have no memory of that."
It was all a rush, as bee mornings often are. I'm worried that the tied-up bees can't get enough air, what with the box being wood and then them being wrapped in a sheet on top of that. I'm worried about the temperature creeping up and up as the sun goes higher. It's also our homeschool Park Day, which means food, and getting everyone going in the same direction, and things like that.
So, having shifted into Turbo Hurry mode, I checked one hive body, and noticed that the plexiglass view side was much higher, high enough to make the bars hang unevenly. So I used a saw to make parallel cuts vertically in it, and then snapped off the offending high edge. Fast.
With my thumb.
Fortunately, previous ER trips for stitches have convinced me that nearly everything can be handled at home with bandaids and superglue. But it hurt, and it was enormously stupid. Thing 1 brought me actual pliers for the remaining snapping.
Then, off to my sister's house. The "bad hive" -- the one that took two queens and killed them in favor of a laying worker, meaning that the hive slowly dies off as only non-foraging males are raised -- had to be addressed. Therefore two hives for one swarm.
I'd also put another swarm in a nuc box (a small, mini-hive) on her apiary shed roof a week ago, and they deserved a real hive too. Therefore the two hives. So I got almost all of my equipment up on the roof while the children played inside and she made lunch for her gang. I'd forgotten my smoker in the morning's excitement. I figured that since swarms are pretty benign, it wouldn't be a problem. Even if it was, I was up a shed roof without one, so I might as well hope for the best. I just had to climb down to get the very last thing, but with the ladder's help, took a faster route down by pitching off of the top rung right onto my bottom. I had enough time to shriek wildly and try to call my sister before hitting. There was something in my pocket -- the pliers? The bee brush? and it hurt a lot to land on. Looking on the bright side, I missed the terra-cotta plant pot with my head by a good few inches. Lying on the ground, counting your blessings and feeling the effects of your autonomic nervous system, is a good time to make resolutions about level ground and helpers with ladders. My sister came out and held the ladder after that. She hadn't heard the fall at all, which is probably a good thing. I thought about charging her double, but since double of nothing is. . . well, you know. So sometimes it's good that there's no video about. A wise beekeeper would remember that the next time she gets cocky.
Back in the saddle, I took the week-old swarm (now a real hive) from their box and set them up in the new hive. They were wonderful -- in a week, they'd made about 4-5 full combs and started filling them with nectar, although I forgot to check for eggs. I didn't see any capped brood. They were mellow and very nice, although the bees not on the combs, but left in the bottom of the box were miffed when I upended it and thumped on the bottom to dislodge them. A cloud flew up, and more were upset when I dropped the box off of the shed side.
Next, I moved the bad hive out of the way, placed the new hive in its place (different bar dimensions; we're still experimenting) and dumped the neatly-wrapped swarm in it. They did the usual fly around in circles thing, buzzing loudly. The bees from the bad hive got carried across the yard hanging on the bizarre comb they'd constructed, and then I intended to use the bee brush to get them off. As I began, however, one of some hive's bees got into my veil. Again. And again, as I tried to get it off, I got stung right on the face. Blast. There's a vague chipmunk vibe going on in my mirror this evening. Again, glad there's no video during this episode either.
After everything had settled down, I could tell that bees were trying to return to their old home and being checked at the door by the new swarm. Maybe they'll be accepted, maybe not. The hive had dwindled strikingly. It's up to the bees, now, fortunately.
After a quick trip to provision for the park, we finally arrived. And I worked on that sweater. Two parts, together at last!
One or two more repeats of the leaf pattern would have been smart, but hopefully some blocking will even out the bulgy look. On, it looks flattering on the recipient:
Since I'm all about learning my lessons, no bows until those sleeves are done.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Spinning and Swarming
So I've been working with my wheel some every week, although not every day. I'm also at the binding off to sew together the parts stage of the green sweater. I tried to somehow graft the live stitches at the bottom of the waist to the trim, but it wasn't working well. I've decided to go to regular mattress stitch. Figuring out what to do is half the battle. But I'm so far off my 12 sweaters goal that it's becoming fairly clear that it might not happen this year, let alone any other finishing goals. . . drat these new time-sucking hobbies!
I was obviously quite spoiled by starting with the Blue Faced Leicester, because it spins like buttah -- sometimes buttah with big blobs in it, but it was lovely nonetheless. My really for practice spinning has been a pound or so of Norwegian Gray I got from Paradise Fibers' sale area.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with this fiber. I think it's combed -- it's top, and it spins up as well as I can spin anything. But it's nothing I'd like against my skin. Remember those old Icelandic sweaters? Warm as anything, but scratchy? It feels like that. These skeins total 78 yards, if my warping board is measuring correctly. It's two bobbins' worth, plied. Thing 1 keeps muttering "Cloak, cloak," and maybe it would be waterproof, but I'm thinking "Oven mitt, oven mitt." We'll see how it goes when the whole bag is done. No matter what (if anything) I make out of this, the practice is doing me good.
This is nice because I'm doing a three-day spinning and dyeing intensive at the same studio I began spinning. I can hardly believe I'm getting to do this -- it's terrifically exciting and I am looking forward to showing off my new skills, such as they are.
For everyone who asked so sweetly about the camping trip, it was wonderful. Dirty, but wonderful. Here's one of my favorite images. Thing 4 talked her head off the entire weekend. People who know her kept telling me that they knew I said she talked a lot, but they'd never heard her. They did there. She also learned to knit.
Just kidding, but she probably could. At the campsite, someone asked, "Can you say XXXX?" in a fairly patronizing way. I said, "She could probably say "Hypotenuse," which she promptly did.
Our household has been fairly busy since we got back. Schoolwork, mountains of laundry, getting certified to belay the rock wall (me) so the kids can climb any time at the gym, orthodontist appointments, grocery shopping -- busy, but not always noticeable. Spring moves into summer, inexorably. I noticed that the sun was shining brightly at 6:00 this morning when I went in to get Thing 4. Yawn.
Instead of napping this afternoon, though, I retrieved a swarm all by myself -- none of my kids were there, the homeowner wasn't there, the terrified-of-bees painters even left. I borrowed their ladder, but even so, the hive was above my head significantly. I had to stand on the "don't stand here" step of the ladder, AND cut branches AND cut the main branch over my head on which the fairly large (3#?) swarm hung. I only wish I had pictures. Actually, I wish I'd had someone taking video. . .
As I cut, I realized that if I used both hands to manage the clipper and the branch, respectively, I would have no free hands to hold on to anything with, so I hung an elbow on another branch. Finally, the 2" or so branch broke under the weight of the bees as I cut away on it. Fortunately, it broke very slowly.
I had already cleared a path through the little branches with my clipper for me on the way down, so I dropped my clippers from the ladder, climbed down the ladder carrying the swarm, which swung from side to side, because it was very "loose," on this warm day today. No bees dropped off -- it was lovely. I lowered the bees into my wooden swarm-retrieving box, placed the cover over most of it, and snapped the branch, dislodging the bees. I waited there until I saw bees fanning their Nasanov glands on the edges of the box.
From then on it was just like every other hive retrieval. The homeowner came back while I was finishing up, and I asked her to "burrito-wrap" the swarm box after dark, so I could pick it up easily in the morning. (I prefer to pick up swarms in the early morning, so I don't strand workers.)
But you know, I would have LOVED to have had an audience. It was so neat, so clean, and so flipping HIGH up in the air. Sigh. The good ones never have anyone there, saying, "Wow! You're so smooth!" Just the ones where I'm tripping over my stuff.
I also decided to restructure my swarm-removal prices, so that they go up if 1) I step on a ladder, and 2) they go up again if I hit that top step. As I was swaying on that tree, I said to myself, "Getting hurt for this is just Not Worth It At All."
So now I have to hustle and make two more top-bar hives tonight, because I'm going to place this bunch where my queenless hive is, taking those bees away and shaking them out, so they can return to the new hive in their old hive place. I've tried everything else to requeen that hive. Having two hives there side-by-side (there's a box of bees waiting there for a bigger hive already) will making keeping them easier, as you can mix and match as necessary. Making new hives is going to play havoc with me going to bed early tonight before getting up at 5:30, but that's the nature of life, I suppose.
I was obviously quite spoiled by starting with the Blue Faced Leicester, because it spins like buttah -- sometimes buttah with big blobs in it, but it was lovely nonetheless. My really for practice spinning has been a pound or so of Norwegian Gray I got from Paradise Fibers' sale area.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with this fiber. I think it's combed -- it's top, and it spins up as well as I can spin anything. But it's nothing I'd like against my skin. Remember those old Icelandic sweaters? Warm as anything, but scratchy? It feels like that. These skeins total 78 yards, if my warping board is measuring correctly. It's two bobbins' worth, plied. Thing 1 keeps muttering "Cloak, cloak," and maybe it would be waterproof, but I'm thinking "Oven mitt, oven mitt." We'll see how it goes when the whole bag is done. No matter what (if anything) I make out of this, the practice is doing me good.This is nice because I'm doing a three-day spinning and dyeing intensive at the same studio I began spinning. I can hardly believe I'm getting to do this -- it's terrifically exciting and I am looking forward to showing off my new skills, such as they are.
For everyone who asked so sweetly about the camping trip, it was wonderful. Dirty, but wonderful. Here's one of my favorite images. Thing 4 talked her head off the entire weekend. People who know her kept telling me that they knew I said she talked a lot, but they'd never heard her. They did there. She also learned to knit.
Just kidding, but she probably could. At the campsite, someone asked, "Can you say XXXX?" in a fairly patronizing way. I said, "She could probably say "Hypotenuse," which she promptly did.Our household has been fairly busy since we got back. Schoolwork, mountains of laundry, getting certified to belay the rock wall (me) so the kids can climb any time at the gym, orthodontist appointments, grocery shopping -- busy, but not always noticeable. Spring moves into summer, inexorably. I noticed that the sun was shining brightly at 6:00 this morning when I went in to get Thing 4. Yawn.
Instead of napping this afternoon, though, I retrieved a swarm all by myself -- none of my kids were there, the homeowner wasn't there, the terrified-of-bees painters even left. I borrowed their ladder, but even so, the hive was above my head significantly. I had to stand on the "don't stand here" step of the ladder, AND cut branches AND cut the main branch over my head on which the fairly large (3#?) swarm hung. I only wish I had pictures. Actually, I wish I'd had someone taking video. . .
As I cut, I realized that if I used both hands to manage the clipper and the branch, respectively, I would have no free hands to hold on to anything with, so I hung an elbow on another branch. Finally, the 2" or so branch broke under the weight of the bees as I cut away on it. Fortunately, it broke very slowly.
I had already cleared a path through the little branches with my clipper for me on the way down, so I dropped my clippers from the ladder, climbed down the ladder carrying the swarm, which swung from side to side, because it was very "loose," on this warm day today. No bees dropped off -- it was lovely. I lowered the bees into my wooden swarm-retrieving box, placed the cover over most of it, and snapped the branch, dislodging the bees. I waited there until I saw bees fanning their Nasanov glands on the edges of the box.
From then on it was just like every other hive retrieval. The homeowner came back while I was finishing up, and I asked her to "burrito-wrap" the swarm box after dark, so I could pick it up easily in the morning. (I prefer to pick up swarms in the early morning, so I don't strand workers.)
But you know, I would have LOVED to have had an audience. It was so neat, so clean, and so flipping HIGH up in the air. Sigh. The good ones never have anyone there, saying, "Wow! You're so smooth!" Just the ones where I'm tripping over my stuff.
I also decided to restructure my swarm-removal prices, so that they go up if 1) I step on a ladder, and 2) they go up again if I hit that top step. As I was swaying on that tree, I said to myself, "Getting hurt for this is just Not Worth It At All."
So now I have to hustle and make two more top-bar hives tonight, because I'm going to place this bunch where my queenless hive is, taking those bees away and shaking them out, so they can return to the new hive in their old hive place. I've tried everything else to requeen that hive. Having two hives there side-by-side (there's a box of bees waiting there for a bigger hive already) will making keeping them easier, as you can mix and match as necessary. Making new hives is going to play havoc with me going to bed early tonight before getting up at 5:30, but that's the nature of life, I suppose.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Camping out
Got some good news, bad news on the green raglan sweater front. Good news? The leaf edging is almost done. I think two more repeats will do it. And since I provisionally cast on, I'm going to end on the last wrong-side row and just knit it together. Seamless edging!
The bad news? The edging will be the right length because I'm going to rip back about 12" in length and 4-5" in width. Thing 1 told me it was too wide yesterday. Oh well. It's fairly quick knitting and I had been wondering if I'd have enough yarn for sleeves. I've also excavated the Pearl Buck Swing Jacket and packed it in a carry bag.
I should have quite a bit of knitting time this weekend, because I'm going camping with Things 2-4. Thing 1 is opting out because her friends aren't going (she did offer to go, saying, "I'll go, I'll just be miserable," which cracked me up). I'm thinking that she and her father are going to have a ball together. Shopping? Eating out? They'll probably do some of each. And no one to hire to take care of the animals. Bonus.
Things 2 & 3 are made for camping. Even with badly-timed colds, they're raring to go. We're traveling a little lighter than before, though. See what's missing?
I'm actually a bit sad, because that tiny pearls smile is one of my favorite childhood things. Onward to growth, though!
The bad news? The edging will be the right length because I'm going to rip back about 12" in length and 4-5" in width. Thing 1 told me it was too wide yesterday. Oh well. It's fairly quick knitting and I had been wondering if I'd have enough yarn for sleeves. I've also excavated the Pearl Buck Swing Jacket and packed it in a carry bag.
I should have quite a bit of knitting time this weekend, because I'm going camping with Things 2-4. Thing 1 is opting out because her friends aren't going (she did offer to go, saying, "I'll go, I'll just be miserable," which cracked me up). I'm thinking that she and her father are going to have a ball together. Shopping? Eating out? They'll probably do some of each. And no one to hire to take care of the animals. Bonus.
Things 2 & 3 are made for camping. Even with badly-timed colds, they're raring to go. We're traveling a little lighter than before, though. See what's missing?
I'm actually a bit sad, because that tiny pearls smile is one of my favorite childhood things. Onward to growth, though!
Monday, May 28, 2007
Cruelty Poll
I think it's interesting that the post about not having kids resonates with folks. Even though I made having kids a hobby, it's only for professionals and shouldn't be tried at home by most folks. In fact, I think no one who absolutely cannot imagine life without children should attempt them. It's just not worth it otherwise.
So, on the topic of why, perhaps, people might not want to have children, I give you this:
And this:
This is a beautiful, intelligent, talented 12 year old. She wants for very little in the material sense. She has opportunities denied most children on this unfortunate planet. She has experienced both the pleasure of activities in which she has natural talent and the enjoyment of working hard and mastering things at which she's not gifted. Ask her the name of a character in the Lord of the Rings, no matter how minor. Heck, ask her the name of any character's horse. She knows them all. She sings long complicated poems that she's memorized in the car. We love her to pieces.
Yet we are making the purchase of a bigger bicycle (she's growing a lot) contingent on her memorizing the times tables. Through 13. . . She claimed, this morning, while bicycling for a quick alone-with-mama trip to the bagel shop, that this was "mean."
I ask you, gentle readers, is this "mean"?
P.S. She just huffily informed us that the only horses that are named in LOTR "are memorable." So it's no big feat. Odd, that. I haven't remembered them, despite reading them all myself.
So, on the topic of why, perhaps, people might not want to have children, I give you this:
And this:
This is a beautiful, intelligent, talented 12 year old. She wants for very little in the material sense. She has opportunities denied most children on this unfortunate planet. She has experienced both the pleasure of activities in which she has natural talent and the enjoyment of working hard and mastering things at which she's not gifted. Ask her the name of a character in the Lord of the Rings, no matter how minor. Heck, ask her the name of any character's horse. She knows them all. She sings long complicated poems that she's memorized in the car. We love her to pieces.
Yet we are making the purchase of a bigger bicycle (she's growing a lot) contingent on her memorizing the times tables. Through 13. . . She claimed, this morning, while bicycling for a quick alone-with-mama trip to the bagel shop, that this was "mean."
I ask you, gentle readers, is this "mean"?
P.S. She just huffily informed us that the only horses that are named in LOTR "are memorable." So it's no big feat. Odd, that. I haven't remembered them, despite reading them all myself.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
I can't even think of a title
People we know are about to adopt a toddler from Khazakstahn. A lot of the folks who know them are wondering how they're going to manage, because they seem the quintessential people who are fine without a child of their own in their lives. You know what I mean: their house is lovely and filled with meaningful mementos of their interests (all fragile), they require a lot of time alone, the noise that children make makes one of them wince, they have extensive exercise routines. . .
On the other hand, who am I to judge? I don't appreciate it when people look at my less-cared-for house and point out that the stained furniture, peeling wallpaper, and wall of noise are all a result of me having a lot of kids. I don't know why these other folks want or need a little one. I don't have to rear it. This, of course, is fortunate, as my hands are rather full these days.
So as I knit away last night for the shower today, I tried to knit in as many good wishes for them and peace with my own choices for me as I could. As the needles went around and around, I reflected on the ways I go around and around in my own head. I can at least focus on my own path, no matter how it feels like I'm just pulling a Sisyphus some days. Goodness knows, these folks are going to have enough to adjust to in the coming months without people getting in their business.
That doesn't mean I might not enjoy watching some of it. I'm not 100% evolved yet, apparently.
Sorry about the blurriness. It's KnitPicks Main Line and Crystal Palace Breeze, held doubled and knit on #8 needles. I think it's a little shallow, which is the bane of my hat-knitting existence. The book, if you don't know it, is a completely delightful paean to the wonders of and joy that is berry picking. So the hat evokes a blueberry, to me. The yarn is great to work with and I like the feel of it. Maybe if I ever get done with the green thing, I'll knit myself up a ribbed pullover out of the rest of the Main Line in stash!
On the other hand, who am I to judge? I don't appreciate it when people look at my less-cared-for house and point out that the stained furniture, peeling wallpaper, and wall of noise are all a result of me having a lot of kids. I don't know why these other folks want or need a little one. I don't have to rear it. This, of course, is fortunate, as my hands are rather full these days.
So as I knit away last night for the shower today, I tried to knit in as many good wishes for them and peace with my own choices for me as I could. As the needles went around and around, I reflected on the ways I go around and around in my own head. I can at least focus on my own path, no matter how it feels like I'm just pulling a Sisyphus some days. Goodness knows, these folks are going to have enough to adjust to in the coming months without people getting in their business.
That doesn't mean I might not enjoy watching some of it. I'm not 100% evolved yet, apparently.
Sorry about the blurriness. It's KnitPicks Main Line and Crystal Palace Breeze, held doubled and knit on #8 needles. I think it's a little shallow, which is the bane of my hat-knitting existence. The book, if you don't know it, is a completely delightful paean to the wonders of and joy that is berry picking. So the hat evokes a blueberry, to me. The yarn is great to work with and I like the feel of it. Maybe if I ever get done with the green thing, I'll knit myself up a ribbed pullover out of the rest of the Main Line in stash!
Friday, May 25, 2007
The house where the crazy lives
Unless you live a much more sheltered life than probably most folks do, really obviously mentally ill people are easy to recognize. Talking to someone who's not there? Check (although in the age of cellphones, that one's not so recognizable on first glance any more). Dirty, unkempt? Check . . . deinstitutionalization and substance abuse aren't good for everyone. We all know the overt signs. Medicated schizophrenia or manic-depression are harder to catch.
And then there are people who you have to get to know before you really see the crazy. The nice-seeming fellow parents who can't stop talking about their problems, the girlfriend from high school who just keeps dating losers, the guy who has 62,467 model airplanes in his garage.
And then there's me. I look as normal as any parent of active young children might. Well, I think I look sane. Our house, on the other hand, perhaps tells a different story. Not only are there chickens and bees, and children home during school hours, here's what our entry way looks like today:
I see a blue fencing bag, a huge new snake cage (a long snake needs to stretch out), two spinning wheels, bags of snake bedding, two knitted items, a baby carrier, and a pink umbrella with horses on it. Pity those with snake phobias who walk in unsuspecting.
And our bookshelves? Here's Blue Faced Leicester and bobbins for the Babe. How new a spinner am I that I realized very late that there were ones with bigger ends for non-lace spinning?
Some partially-used bobbins:
Here I was thinking that knitting was a hobby that was slowly creeping over my entire house. Spinning seems worse. Plus, if you "spin" the way I do, there are bits and bobs of half-spun mistake wool all over the rug. It looks something like it might if I followed through on my threatened plan to adopt miniature sheep and keep them as house pets. I found this wool-strewing thing out when Things 3 & 4 were rolling around, burrito-style in a fleece blanket this morning. They were festooned.
In my out-of-the house moments, I've been pegging along on the bottom of the green sweater. The green sweater that I'm half-convinced is now way too wide for Thing 1 but I have to finish it. And sooner rather than later. I'm hoping to actually get it done some day. Yes, there is at least one if not more obvious mistakes. I'm going with the prancing pony test on this one, though.
Also, knitting this little lace pattern has me thinking about people who say, "The lace pattern was easy to memorize." Maybe it's not just that I live in Distractionland. Maybe it's that I'm not the kind of person who memorizes numerical things well. Social Security numbers? I know two, and only because they sort of rhyme, for lack of a better word. Phone numbers? A handful, but not the cell phone one that doesn't seem to have a pattern. As I knit this, I remember that the first line has matching K3tog decreases, and that rows 5 and 7 are almost identical, but I don't at all have it memorized. I just recognize it like a familiar face, but the name isn't there.
The words to "Night Fever," though? Got them!
"I got fire in my mind.
I got higher in my walkin.
And I'm glowin' in the dark;
I give you warnin'."
Crazy indeed
And then there are people who you have to get to know before you really see the crazy. The nice-seeming fellow parents who can't stop talking about their problems, the girlfriend from high school who just keeps dating losers, the guy who has 62,467 model airplanes in his garage.
And then there's me. I look as normal as any parent of active young children might. Well, I think I look sane. Our house, on the other hand, perhaps tells a different story. Not only are there chickens and bees, and children home during school hours, here's what our entry way looks like today:
I see a blue fencing bag, a huge new snake cage (a long snake needs to stretch out), two spinning wheels, bags of snake bedding, two knitted items, a baby carrier, and a pink umbrella with horses on it. Pity those with snake phobias who walk in unsuspecting.And our bookshelves? Here's Blue Faced Leicester and bobbins for the Babe. How new a spinner am I that I realized very late that there were ones with bigger ends for non-lace spinning?
Some partially-used bobbins:
Here I was thinking that knitting was a hobby that was slowly creeping over my entire house. Spinning seems worse. Plus, if you "spin" the way I do, there are bits and bobs of half-spun mistake wool all over the rug. It looks something like it might if I followed through on my threatened plan to adopt miniature sheep and keep them as house pets. I found this wool-strewing thing out when Things 3 & 4 were rolling around, burrito-style in a fleece blanket this morning. They were festooned.
In my out-of-the house moments, I've been pegging along on the bottom of the green sweater. The green sweater that I'm half-convinced is now way too wide for Thing 1 but I have to finish it. And sooner rather than later. I'm hoping to actually get it done some day. Yes, there is at least one if not more obvious mistakes. I'm going with the prancing pony test on this one, though.
Also, knitting this little lace pattern has me thinking about people who say, "The lace pattern was easy to memorize." Maybe it's not just that I live in Distractionland. Maybe it's that I'm not the kind of person who memorizes numerical things well. Social Security numbers? I know two, and only because they sort of rhyme, for lack of a better word. Phone numbers? A handful, but not the cell phone one that doesn't seem to have a pattern. As I knit this, I remember that the first line has matching K3tog decreases, and that rows 5 and 7 are almost identical, but I don't at all have it memorized. I just recognize it like a familiar face, but the name isn't there.
The words to "Night Fever," though? Got them!
"I got fire in my mind.
I got higher in my walkin.
And I'm glowin' in the dark;
I give you warnin'."
Crazy indeed
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