Monthly Archives: June 2011

Lynne’s Addiction

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I have a few knitting projects on the go that I want to finish over my holidays:  

  • The Zombie Monkey – must finish before going to Tim and Cathy’s – for Young Simon – cuz he neeeeeeds one.
  • The brown alpaca cowl – started as a vehicle to use some of my fantastical buttons.  
  • The green/blue/brown log cabin blanket – I’m on square 12 of 12 – then, the darning in of ends and sewing together of squares – hmmm…..Leesa said she likes darning in ends – hint, hint?
  • The never-ending red wrap sweater.  This will never be finished, I don’t know who I’m kidding.

 But there’s new projects I want to get on to as well!

  • A special monster for friend Carter – I have some great red Manos Del Uruguay that is dying to be a monster, and many fascinating monsters to choose from! 
  • A pink/purple shawl in handspun merino/silk blend sockweights.
  • A sideways scarf from blanket scraps.
  • A Very Chunky Cowl in the heavy blue and white weird stuff I got in a job lot – also, will use some of my fabulous buttons on this bad boy!
  • A pair of camel socks.  You didn’t even know camels wore socks, did you?
  • A sari silk project bag from the pattern I got years ago from Just One More Row.

I also have various other little shawly/scarfy things in random lovely homespuns from my ever-growing collection in mind.

So many projects, so little time…I love casting on new projects – sewing up ends and finishing up, not so much. 

I have some lovely yarns that don’t know what they want to be yet, too.

  •  Two skeins in shades of purple of a wool/silk blend from a job lot.
  • MILES of a dark green/teal/brown mohair.  I knit one shawl from it already, probably enough for three more!  Or?  What?  Ideas?
  • A skein of bright yellow/peach/coral mohair that I no longer love.  There’s lots of it, though…it’s been in the what-was-I-thinking category for a long time now.
  • And finally, a skein of lace-weight tencel, handpainted in purple/grey/tan/teal.

I realize that this is more of an inventory than a blog entry, and as such, probably really interests no one but me, and possibly Simon and Carter.  At least this way I have a list somewhere – and you know how I love lists.

I just realized there’s one more project I neglected to mention – the sock yarn blanket in multicoloured mitred squares.  However, that’s for my bed at Shady Acres, when I retire, so the timeline on that one is somewhat fluid.

So much knitting – so little time.

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Old People

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I love my old friends.  They know why I am the way I am, and are never shocked or surprised by anything I say or do.  I had a good talk with CG on the phone this evening – we’re planning a road trip full of drinkin’ and knittin’, and possibly a coffee table book about the experience.  What wine goes with laceweight alpaca?  It’s all about the pairings, baby.  We will drive about the province discovering wineries and wooleries, and throw rocks at boys along the way.

I love my new friends too.  Although they are somewhat more flappable, they haven’t heard my stories a hundred times before.

I figure by the time my old friends and I get REALLY old, they’ll have forgotten them and we’ll be like new friends all over again, right?  At that point, CG and I have a Thelma and Louise ending tentatively planned, providing at least one of us can still drive.

New People

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Yesterday Elliot and I went up to Bracebridge to see Dad for Father’s Day (yeah, I know it’s actually today, but I was going to have other plans today, except I don’t – see below).  We took him to lunch at the New Haven, which is now probably the oldest business in Bracebridge. The Setos don’t own it anymore, but is is essentially the same.  I like that.  There’s not much that’s the same up there anymore.  You can’t go home again.

Today, believe it or not, I was going to go to – wait for it – church.  I think I could just about handle the Unitarians.  I don’t know if they could handle me, though. My horoscope says I will meet a group of people who have a similar viewpoint to mine.  I meant to go last week, too, and I didn’t.  I’m extremely nervous about it.  My worry is, although I would like to just sneak quietly into the back and listen in, and go and ruminate on what I’ve heard, it’s my experience that church people always want to shake your hand and clutch you to their collective bosom.   I need to broaden my horizons and meet new people, but – it’s so hard.  I don’t LIKE new people.  I don’t know what they’re going to say, or what I can safely say in front of them. I feel like I’m always biting my tongue.  It’s almost like I have to mimic them for a while to try and figure out what their skin feels like. That’s not natural, I shouldn’t try to be them, I should just try to be me.  But mostly I don’t really know what “me” is, so it’s not that easy. 

Define yourself.  What are your must-haves, what are your deal-breakers?  Do you adhere to them regardless of the company you’re keeping?  I can be fickle, I want to please the people I’m with, but afterwards I kick myself in the ass for not being true to myself.  Deep down, I worry that People Won’t Like What I Am, so I try to be something else that they WILL like, instead.  That’s a major mistake, I know.  I over-analyze, try to second-guess what people think.

Newsflash:  I don’t know what people think.  So, rather than trying to please people who please ME, I should just be me and let people either be pleased or not with me.  I just want to make everyone happy, and that is essentially dishonest on my part.  But I’ve never been very good at reading whether people like me or not.

On the other hand, that’s how society works, isn’t it?  We have to get along with people we don’t exactly adore.  We live hundreds of tiny lies every day, at work and at home, just to get along.  It would be nice not to have to do that, but it’s part of life.  But where do you draw the line?  And with whom?  And what if you get so far into a relationship with another person by “getting along” that all of a sudden you realize that you’re not what they think you are at all?

Almost better that they should have disliked you right off the bat.

More Spinning Thoughts

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So, I’m at friend Sharon’s this morning, in Lindsay.  There was a darts tournament for all the courthouse folks last night, and I stayed over so I could drink some beers.  It was funsies, and we were not the most disgraceful team there, although we did not make the finals. However, I’m up and it’s too early to go to the courthouse, so – here we are, on my blog.  Sharon set the coffeemaker up for me so all I had to do was push a button and the brown just squirted right out.  Yay.  Trying to figure out other people’s coffeemakers when you’re a little bleary is toooooo hard.

Here’s what I’ve been thinking about this morning, for some weird reason.  Because I enjoy my spinning as a hobby, often people ask me “Do you belong to a Guild?” or “Are you going to the Spinner’s Frolic? (gag)” or “Have you ever thought about teaching spinning/taking a course/holding a workshop?”

No, and no.

Here’s the thing.  I taught myself, with a little help from books on the subject.  People, I don’t even know if I do it right.  I get yarn out the other end, so I figure probably yes.  After years of practice, I can control thickness well, and I get a nice uniform product.  I can make thick yarn, thin yarn, plied yarns – whatever.  I know what types of fibres I like to work with, and which ones I don’t.

Most importantly – I enjoy it.  I like the process, I like the feeling, I like the results I get.  And I like to knit, so it’s a plus, really.  I get yarns that are unique in all the world, because I made them.

Now – I ‘m going to address these questions. 

1. How can I teach you to do it when I don’t even know if I’m doing it right?  I don’t have the terminology to explain what I’m doing, and I think about 80% of the process is intuitive.  I learned by feel.  I’ve been doing it a long time, so I’m pretty good at it.  Teach yourself, it’s fun.  Learn some history.  Google “Gandhi – spinning”.  It’s meditative and soothing.  I’ll show you if you want, but don’t call it teaching.  You’re not going to come out the end with any letters after your name.

2. I would never go to anything called a “Frolic”.  I don’t frolic.  It completely goes against my curmudgeonly principles.  It wrankles me, and I dislike being wrankled.

3. In my experience, people who belong to Guilds are Snotty.  They’re not there to share the knowledge, or preserve history, or encourage new people.  They want to feel exclusive.  That’s all.  Like they’re freakin’ Masons or something.  Newsflash, people.  The Renaissance happened.  Medieval Times is a cheesy dinner theatre.  You just like saying “I belong to a Guild”.  Face it. 

4. If I take a course, someone’s going to tell me I’m doing it wrong.  That would essentially suck all the joy out of one of my favourite things.  I would forever after be self-conscious about it.  I would actually KNOW that I’m doin’ it wrong.

Listen, people have been spinning fibres for centuries.  It’s not rocket science.  It used to be an elderly person’s job, when they were not able to do anything else.  It was essentially a vital function of every household, so people would have some freakin’ clothes to wear.  It’s not a secret, magical thing.  You’re not a Master Craftsman.  Get over it.  Enjoy it.

I just want to sit around and blend and pull and spin and be happy.  Be one with the woolies!

Peace.

Morgan Freeman, Yer Blowin’ My MIND!

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So, I’m sitting around watching TV, minding my own damn business knitting a blanket, mind you, when dang ol’ Morgan Freeman comes on the screen to promote a science special.

According to Morgan Freeman, who has such an authoritative voice that you can’t possibly NOT believe him, scientists are postulating that the Universe is not, in fact, infinite, but is finite.

So, this is blowing my mind.  If the Universe has boundaries, then – what’s beyond THAT?  Nothing?  A bigger Container-Universe?  Are we Whos down in Who-Ville?  The end of “It-Is” has to be – It’s NOT. 
And where does it end?  How does it end?  Are there any warning signs, or barriers?  What’s containing it?

My mind is blown.  Thanks Morgan Freeman.  Also, thanks for having too much texture in your face.  Never watch a Morgan Freeman movie from anywhere in the first five rows at the cinema.  The combination of giant pores, freckles and wrinkles will blow your mind…

Hodgepodge

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Today, I promise to stay right way up.  Yesterday I drank a whole bunch of lime daiquiries and smoked half a deck of Colts.  Although it was a fun day, I did end up on the couch, and as a result, missed dinner with Leah and Don and drinks with Selda and the dragon boat racers.  Yeah. Like I needed more drinks at that point.  My mouth tastes extremely unpleasant, but that may also be the pasta with vegetables roasted in garlic olive oil and anchovies.  Probably a combination – and what a combination!  Garlic, anchovies, lime daiquiries and cigars.  Blech. 

What’s strange, though, is that I got a ton of kntting done.  Drunk knitting is weird.  Don’t try drunk-knitting lace or anything, but straight knitting is easy, and from some reason I can do a ton of it.  It’s a bit like the story of the Shoemaker and the Elves the next day.  “Look!  Someone knit us a…what is that, anyway?”

Right now, I’m still in bed.  I can’t sleep in on weekends, which bites.  I wake up at the same time as I do on weekdays.  Best thing to do, I find, is get a cup of coffee and some toast (I’m just recollecting that there’s some apricot jam in the fridge), and come back to bed and read for a while.  For some reason, a cup of coffee puts me back to sleep.  I don’t think that’s quite right, because on weekdays, it has the opposie effect.  O Coffee, Thou Art An Excellent Mystery Indeed.  I’ve made myself a deal.  If I go the gym all five weekdays, I don’t have to go on the weekend.  But only if I go all five, otherwise I have to go one or two days, however many I’ve skipped.  Good incentive to haul my ass out of bed Monday mornings, so I can experience the Pleasures of the Duvet on the weekends.

That might be the plan;  coffee, toast and reading in bed for a bit.  Although I have started “Blindness” for the second time, and am bravely trudging through it, it’s unrelentingly dark (no pun intended), so I’m tempering it with a little of Tina Fey’s very funny “Bossypants” and a little Krishnamurti for the good of my dirty ol’ soul.

Speaking of my dirty ol’ soul, I was thinking today might be the day I go check out the Unitarians.  But, it might also be the day I finally clean out my wardrobe and take a bunch of stuff over to Valu Village.  First dibs go to my short friend, who always likes when I clean out my wardrobe, because so many things shrink up too short for me and become just perfect for her.

Short people have it so easy, everything’s geared to them.  No matter how heavy you are, if you’re short, you’re a “petite”, and can easily find pants to fit.  Countertops, ironing boards – virtually all household surfaces – are built for the average-height woman.  Baby strollers are the worst, I could never push one for long without getting a sore back from being hunched over.  Even the grip bar on the treadmill at the gym is wrong for me.  Know what I like?  I like the big giant toilets in handicapped washrooms.  If I ever had the money to build my own home, that’s what I’d have.  Higher everything.  *sigh*  But then, everytime people were over, they’d be asking me to come reach things for them.  Times like this I miss my little Mum yelling from the kitchen “I need somebody TALL out here, please”. 

A Cautionary Tale

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I’m going to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a girl.  She went to school like all the other girls.  She played, and sang, and wrote stories and did all the things children do. 

When she went to highschool, she met a boy.  She wanted that boy.  She loved that boy.  She went out with that boy a few times.  But the boy didn’t love her, and they didn’t go out any more.  They were friends for many years, but after school ended, they moved to different towns.  They met other people.  They forgot about each other.

The girl met another boy.  Well, a man actually.  The man was a lot older than the girl.  He seemed nice.  He wanted to have a family.  He asked her to marry him.  The girl wanted a family.  The girl was worried that maybe no one else ever would ask her, so she married him.  But all the time, she was thinking about the boy.  The boy came to her wedding. 

The girl and the man moved away, and had children, and bought a little house.  The girl kept trying to tell herself she was happy.  The man didn’t beat her, he wasn’t rude to her.  But the man didn’t work very often, and didn’t really notice the girl.  He didn’t help the girl.  He didn’t talk to the girl, or hug her.  The girl worked and worked and worked.  The more she worked, the more she resented the man.  She had to leave her babies with other people while she worked, and she missed them.  She missed some big milestones in their lives, and she started to resent the man.

The girl became more and more unhappy with the man.  Eventually, the girl told the man to go away.  The man was angry, and bitter.  But he went away.  There was still a lot of work, but the girl was happy working for her children, and they were happier than they were with the man.

The girl was lonely for a while.  She stopped eating.  She didn’t sleep very much. 

Then one day, the girl was invited to a reunion at her old school.  She wondered if the boy would be there.

The boy was there.  He was so happy to see her, and she fell in love with him all over again.  For several years, they were blissfully happy.  He was the great love of her life.  They felt so lucky, because they found what so many other people were looking for.  They thought their love was special, and precious. 

And then, for some fucking reason, it all fell to shit.