Finally!

I've finished a project!!! It's the Clapotis (here on Ravelry) that I started in May. It's easy, fun and a great take-along project. The only change in the pattern from row to row comes before the first marker and after the last. The rest of the row remains the same, over and over. The rows on the back are purl rows. This took such a long time because I made it with Malabrigo sock yarn (Persia color).

I think this is the first thing I've finished in F.O.R.E.V.E.R.I'm working on this sweater for my younger daughter. Unlike the Clapotis, EVERY row in the 24-row repeat is different. I can't knit this at knit night because I can't concentrate well enough, and I doubt that I could recruit another knitter there to read every row to me so that I could work on it. They are nice people, but they expect to be able to work on their own knitting.

Maybe a bribe????

Can You Say Paradise?

Doc told me that if I want to walk for pt, I needed to walk in the pool, and this morning was my first "walk." The weather is glorious; the pool water is just the right temperature, and the pool is salt-water purified---no chlorine odor. The time is right for a re-run of my pool/teaching story and here it is:

Paradise is what our neighborhood pool felt like today. For some reason, once the end of summer vacation comes and the kids are all back in school, no one comes to the pool, and so I have it to myself. It was lovely this morning: the bluest, cloudless skies; no noise except for the birds and whatever the noisy insects in the trees are; perfect temperature and humidity; and the occasional, silvery corporate jet gliding noiselessly overhead, very high in the cloudless blue sky. I have said for decades that the only thing I would trade my soul for is my very own swimming pool. Natas, are you listening?

When I lived in Florida, I was a regular long-term substitute teacher in a school for the gifted. It was a separate facility, on its own campus, and the students had to meet IQ and other ability requirements to qualify for the school. The kids were amazingly bright, smarter than most of the teachers probably, and teaching there required that the teacher’s ego could stand knowing that if a student questioned something, it was OK to say, “I don’t know, but let’s find out.” We couldn’t fool these kids. Since it was a separate school, the kids weren’t bullied by the types of people who would call them “geeks” or “nerds.” They may have called each other that at times, but all in teasing fun. They tended to spark off each other so classes were never dull and it was a blast to teach there.

One student has stayed in my memory. His name was Joe, but when I took over the class for the remainder of the year at the start of second semester, I couldn’t figure out who he was; he signed his papers “Natas.” I asked Natas to let me know what his real name was so that I could record his grades correctly in the grade book. Turns out, he was signing "Natas" because that is "Satan" spelled backwards. It was meant to shock, I’m sure, but I just said “OK.” Let’s just say that Joe was dancing to his own music. He was sort of Goth before Goth was even in existence and occasionally got in trouble for his behavior and his appearance, but all in all, he seemed like a nice kid. His poor father was called in once for a conference after Joe had done something wrong, and he certainly was rattled by his son’s behavior. He said to me, “Do you know he signs ‘Natas’ on his papers?”

Well, yes I did, and I told him it didn’t worry me, that it was just meant to shock and it wasn’t working. He finally bought his son a computer (before the days when every home had one, let alone multiple, computers), hoping that using it would inspire better work. Oddly enough, Joe started signing his papers “Joe *anonymous*, 3rd.” I guess he liked how his actual name looked in print.

We teachers wondered what would happen to Joe. Would he end up a bored office worker? A conservative, right-wing Republican, very strict with his own children? I hope not. I hope he’s found a creative and fun way to make a living, and is able to use his sort of odd outlook on life in a way that he and those around him can appreciate. It’s just one of those things I will probably never know….


Knittergran?

What? Who’s there?

It's me, Natas.

Huh? Wha…?

Quitcher bitchin.

What?

Didn’t you just go on and on about how no one is at the pool and the weather is perfect and blah, blah, blah?

Well, yes.

So you already have your own pool. Stop bugging me. I don’t want your soul. Geeze, you’re practically circling the drain aren't you?

Uh, well, I hope not, but...

Well, you're old. So there's not much soul there for me to work with, right?

Well, Ohh...kay . I see your point.

Good.

Yikes!

Just My Luck

After I went through physical therapy to strengthen my leg to help support my bad knee, I found the perfect gym for me. It was small, not fancy---no pool, steam room, sauna, fancy dressing room---and I joined it. I went there for a couple of weeks until my knee gave out on me.

So now I have had the surgery and am back in physical therapy. After my surgery I received a letter from a big gym, LA Fitness, telling me that they had bought out my old gym and when I brought my old membership card in, LA fitness would swap it out for a membership card at their gym.

Rats. I loved my gym. It was small, never crowded and had exactly the equipment I needed. LA fitness has the equipment as well, but it's filled with people like this:

Young women in great shape:
Men who think they look like this:
But who actually look like this:
My old gym was not in the least intimidating. Everyone there was sort of middle aged and older, and I never saw anyone in great shape there, just people like me trying to be in better shape. No show-offs.

And my old gym cost $12.00 a month. LA Fitness is honoring that fee for six months, and then it will go up to $39.00 a month.

I hope I can find a new no-frills gym close by, but the attendant at LA Fitness told me that a gym charging $12/month can't last long.

Rats.

Aw, Shucks

Will I ever learn?

This skirt has been too big for forever, but I kept telling myself that it was just an illusion, that once I had more of it finished I could try it on and it would fall just right and it would fit.

It doesn't.

SO, I guess I will start over.

DAY...UM. But it is my own fault.

On the Road Again!!!

Watch out world! I'm free!

I can drive!

I just had my stitches removed!

I can bend my knee!

I can stop trying to scrub off the yellow blobs and streaks of betadyne! (turns out it's not betadyne; it's bruising)

My knee still looks like a grapefruit and I have a couple of months of pt ahead, but one week to the day after surgery, I'm in the home stretch.

After the appointment with my doctor, I went to Whole Foods to get yummy stuff. Apparently my body has missed fruit, because when I unloaded the bags at home, I realized that I had bought about $70 of fruit. And one ear of corn. (dH is out of town for the week.)

Yum.

Make It Stop!

I think I have mini-bi-polar disease. Since my knee surgery last Tuesday, I have been housebound, save for one RIDE IN THE CAR!!! My husband wouldn't let me open the window and hang my head out to catch the wind, but still, I was out of the house.

Today, suddenly I HAD to clean the refrigerator. No lie. I cleaned the refrigerator.

And then I returned to my whiny self. Ohhh, mykneeisthesizeofagrapefruit. Poor, poor me. Time for ice and wallowing in some self pity.

And then there were all these papers on my desk. I MUST deal with them. RIGHT NOW! Where did they come from??? What are they??? I sorted through them, wrote checks, paid bills, and shredded the very important potential identity theft papers. Whew....

ooops. Back to whining. Poor, poor me. Mykneeisstillthesizeofagrapefruit. Really, really, poor, poor me. Sniff....sniff.

I get the stitches out tomorrow and I'm going to ask the doctor if it's true that anesthesia affects a person for ten days after surgery because sweet baby jeebus, this is no fun.

And I have watched way.too.much.tv. No more Hoarding: Buried Alive for me.

So I Just Had Knee Surgery

and my friend told me that the anesthesia takes ten days to leave the body. Maybe the presence of the anesthesia might explain why I giggle when I watch this.

Or maybe not. I might just be silly.

Bad A** Baxter? Not My Kitty!!!

A little over a year ago, we adopted a rescue kitten and named him Baxter. He is a sweet, sweet kitty! He snuggles, he plays, he sleeps. He is so good natured that he even let 8-year old Lily haul him around when she was here for a visit. She took him repeatedly from point A (the counter, the table, the washer and dryer) to point B (the floor, the floor, the floor). He didn't protest AT ALL. He is such a GOOD boy!

And then last week, he had his one-year check up and I didn't recognize this cat who has lived with us for the past year.

There was a pen of cute, cute kittens in the reception area, and since Baxter is an only cat and an indoor cat, I thought that he might like to meet some of his own species. I put his carrier down near the pen so that they could all meet. The kittens were thrilled. They wanted to meet Baxter, play with Baxter, love on Baxter; Baxter hissed. And hissed some more.

We went into the exam room where I let him out of his carrier and he was quite happy to wander around and sniff all the new smells.

The vet tech came in. She talked sweetly to him. He hissed.

The vet came in. When it was time for Baxter's shot, the vet took ahold of the area where the shot would go, and Baxter WENT CRAZY. Batsh*t CRAZY! He tried to bite the vet; he tried to claw the vet; he hissed at the vet.

I was mortified. I apologized. He has never done any of this before!!! I promised. I apologized some more and then asked if someone could trim Baxter's nails.

We can try, the vet answered through clenched teeth. He took Baxter away to a different room. I don't know what happened, but Baxter's nails were trimmed and we were sent on our way.

Once we were home, my sweet Baxter returned. I don't know who that cat was at the vet's.

Not MY Baxter.

My Sous Chef Wannabee

Baxter!!! No!!!

The Eye

It's watching us.

When the grandchildren are here, I put toys in the top drawer of a dresser that they use and they have fun finding odds and ends of small things. This time, I put an eye in a teacup in the drawer, but after a couple of days had passed and they hadn't looked in the drawer, I told them to go look.

The eye is icky. It's sort of sticky and it squishes. So of course, one of the grandchildren (I'm not saying who; I'm protecting the identity of the guilty.) threw it against a wall and it stuck. That prompted said child to toss the eye to the ceiling---two stories above the family room. And there it remains, keeping watch over us. We could reach it using a yardstick while standing in the hallway on the second floor.

But I'm kind of curious to see how long it will stay there.

I Big Red Heart Apple

I had an appointment with a brilliant young man named Mark at the local Apple store this morning, and he was able to answer EVERY SINGLE QUESTION I had about using my new Mac. ALL OF THEM!!! So now I know everything I currently need to know.

The only problem is.....

How am I supposed to remember it all????

Let Your Kid Have a Computer

and she steals your blog post.

(Hey, H! I was gonna write that!)

I know. I know. He who hesitates is lost.

Letter to my daughter, who owns a Mac and knows EVERYTHING about them

about my new Mac, with which I am not yet in love:

I can't open excel spreadsheets with my Mac...whine...

I can't sync my Mac and my Iphone....whine...

I can't find the tutorials in my Mac....whine...

Help????

(I should wait for Tuesday morning's private session at Apple?)

But I want help NOW!!!

whine....whine....whine....

Is Something Wrong With This???

Betting it's in Texas.

A Shot of Cortisone for My Knee

A shot of tequila for the rest of me.

A couple of months ago, the knee I had surgery on in 2009 started hurting---a lot. So off I went to my orthopedist. He took x-rays. He prescribed physical therapy, Voltarin and ice.

I did everything I was supposed to do, and was discharged from pt two weeks early, with a perfectly pain-free knee. I continued my exercises, went to a gym, and my wonderful knee lasted......two weeks. That was it.

So here I go again. I studied the knee chart in the exam room while I waited for the doctor and after that lengthy and comprehensive course of study, I diagnosed bursitis of the knee.

The doctor came in and suggested that I am wrong. Torn meniscus (again) maybe. Torn cartilage, maybe. Degenerative arthritis, maybe. He said he could tell more from an autopsy.

No, he didn't say that. I may have watched too many episodes of NCIS. He said that he could tell more from an MRI, which is scheduled for next Tuesday, with a follow up on Thursday.

In the meantime, I'm counting on the cortisone to reduce or eliminate the pain, so I can party while the grandchildren are still here.

And there is always more tequila.

What Fresh Hell is This?

Baxter asked, when on Wednesday younger daughter arrived from LA. He had already spent a week running away from one normal sized person and four small people. And now there was one more.

It was a tough time for Baxter until he discovered the benefits of extra people. Especially the small ones.

Toys to investigate. Bags to knock over and crawl into.

Soft places to sleep.

Suitcases to crawl into.

Lots of STUFF everywhere!

What more could he ask for?

New beverages to stick his paw in to test-taste.

And yesterday, after I went all through the house, looking under beds and in closets calling for him, when I went into the tv/knitting room, there he was, on top of his cat condo, ignoring my calls. "What? I'm watching Diary of a Wimpy Kid with my peeps. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. Scram."

I think he has adjusted to all of this, and will miss all these small people when they leave.

They're Here!

To preserve our sanity, I decided all visitors' shoes should be in one place to avoid the "Where are my shoes????" every time we go someplace.

We'll see how long it lasts.

Baxter hid the first day, came out and snooped the second, and today, he's wandering, but staying a step ahead of the small people. I bet he'll miss them when they are gone.

Would it be Wrong

to pay grandchildren a bounty for dust bunnies?

It would save on vacuuming. Just a thought........

Deer in the Headlights

Now I know what he feels like.

Tomorrow my older daughter and her four children, ages 10, 8, almost 5, and almost 3 arrive.

I am trying to be ready. Last year, I was very organized but I discovered that with four young personalities, there are no guarantees that plans will be successful. This year I am not organized, and I'm hoping that if I have enough of the basics (snacks, toilet paper), all will go well.

Baxter has no idea what he is in for. He has never been around children en masse, so watching him adjust, if he does, should be interesting.

Poor Baxter?/Happy Baxter? Time will tell.

And Baxter said "Hah!"

"You and who else, lady?" he added.

Nevermind.

Oh, what to do? What to do?

Baxter---NO!

You might not know me in person, but take my word for this: the waistband on this skirt is much too large for me. I don’t know what has happened. I did check gauge well after I was into the pattern portion of the skirt, and it seemed to be right on. But when I pulled the skirt out at knit night two weeks ago, people either gasped or laughed. The waistband did not appear to be intended for me.

So between that knit night and last week’s knit night, I put an extender cord on my knit-picks interchangeable needles so that I could spread the whole skirt out.

I took it back to knit night, and there were the same gasps and laughs that there had been the previous week.

I think there is a problem.

SallyKnit had the best solution: Eat more.

And while I like that suggestion, I think I’ll go with Lucille’s: put the elastic in the waistband, put the skirt on, and see how it looks. Maybe the waistband is supposed to be that large pre-elastic.

Once I take the skirt out of time out (out of sight, out of mind is my current working philosophy) I’ll put in the elastic and see what happens.

But the out of mind stuff isn't working. The skirt is nagging at me.

Tars Ain't Purty

Somewhere I have lived, a man who owned a tire shop wrote and performed in his own TV advertising, and that's what he said: Tars ain't purty.

No they aren't and mine is really ugly. It blew out and threw shreds of rubber across I 85 in South Carolina yesterday as I was driving back to Atlanta from Clemmons, NC, where I had just spent a lovely weekend visiting my great cook friend, Kathy. We went to art shops in Winston-Salem, Replacements, and to Prissy Polly's Bar-B-Que for lunch on Saturday. We had a great time.

And then there was the drive home. The tire blew out, and with some difficulty, I managed to get to the right-hand shoulder. I know I learned how to change tires in high school driver's ed class, but I was not about to do that on a busy (or any other) road. My insurance company sent out a man to put on the spare (thank goodness for cell phones) and off I went......at 50 miles per hour for TWO HUNDRED %^&*() miles.

You would think that when cars and trucks see a car ahead with flashers on, clearly moving more slowly than the 150 mph everyone else seems to be going, they would know BEFORE they just about hit my bumper that they need to move over. But no.

I'm sorry about all of the people I inconvenienced for a moment or so yesterday on I 85, but to those people who were scared to death as they veered off to the left to avoid hitting me-tough luck. Pay attention next time. And I thought truckers talked to each other as they drive. You'd think they might warn other truckers that there was a green Honda ahead, with an old-ish lady driving really slowly in the right hand lane.

Apparently not. Because each and every one of them scared ME to death as they approached at high speed, and then had to hit the brakes while they waited for a spot to pull into the left lane. I tried driving on the shoulder, but it was paved with those washboard ridges and I was really afraid that would shred the aging tiny, fake tire that is called a spare.

Made it home, slowly, and had a shot of tequila.

The End

Not Your Grandmother's Knitting

Unless you had a very cool, ahead-of-her-times grandmother.

Yesterday was both Worldwide Knit in Public Day AND the first ever International Yarn Bombing Day, and so of course, several of our Thursday night Knit Night crew were out and about, doing our best to celebrate both of these very important events.

Sallyknit won best yarn bombing item with this cute mouse, which we attached to the downspout of a gutter at the back corner of a canoe store. The store itself is on a corner of the main street, so the mouse is very visible

Monster paw and chain cover: Crochet square:
Pole cover:

Our "We were here" mark:
There was more, much more. Madame Rella, Lucille, Sallyknit, and I had a great time knitting, crocheting and installing yarn bombs. The odd thing was that even though we were doing this in full view of all the people window-shopping, eating and drinking at tables along the sidewalks outside of restaurants, almost NO ONE commented or asked us what we were doing. One woman was getting out of a car as we were installing the mouse on the downspout. She glanced at us and looked away quickly as if she were embarrassed that she had seen us. As if she had seen something she wasn't intended to see. We told her that she was fine, that she could watch, but she walked away.

Then we realized, maybe people were embarrassed FOR us.

What are those crazy old ladies doing???

Having fun, that's what!

And if you happen to be walking along Canton Street in Roswell, Georgia, look around. You never know what you might find.

Summer is Here

Not officially, of course, but I know it's here because of the heat and the visible air. I always breathe a sigh of relief (and then cough) when this time of year rolls around because I believe that if you can't SEE the air, how do you know it's out there???

RAIN DAMMIT!!!

If

it's a poor workman who blames his tools, then I am a great and wonderful work.....woman? person? Whatever.

I started out knitting the waistband of the Hip in Hemp skirt on size 4 Addis, then switched to size 5 Addis to knit the skirt itself. Every fourth row is a pattern row, and part of the pattern contains M1L and M1R stitches.

Well, that was no easy trick with the dull points on the Addis. (The Knit Picks needles are on the left; the Addis on the right.) So I switched to the KnitPicks interchangeables, and that made all the difference in the world. I can just knit along, no struggling with the tricky stitches, thanks to the pointier tips, and off I go. So I am giving credit where credit is due---Knit Picks needles are fantastic!!! Signature needles are pointier still, but Boy George, they are forty dollars a pair!

The patterning created by the yarn and the stitches is starting to show up, and while it's a bit more obviously stripey than I had thought it would be, I still love it. This is not the Satan Sasha Skirt's sibling skirt. It's lovely and it is easy to knit. The chart was intimidating to look at but once I figured out what it all meant, I decided it was brilliant. Whoever put together the charts for it is a genius. (See? Giving credit where credit is due again.)
I'm no genius, however. As I was taking the picture of the chart, I noticed that the magnetic count guide has a gauge guide on it and I remembered that I had not measured for gauge. Uh oh. Too late now. But I have used this yarn before, and I was pretty close to gauge then, so I am assuming I am now. (Also I did sort of check after I took the picture, and I think I'm OK. )

A Good Time Was Had By All

Well, by me. I like watching someone else work. And occasionally bossing someone else around.

We have a small pond, about 350 gallons, we think. DH put it in 15 years ago. Since that time we have gone through lots of fish, snails, and frogs. The frogs or toads, whatever they are, last the longest. But in those 15 years, we have never taken out all of the water, cleaned the pond, and put in new water. We relied on rain, chemicals (bad, bad, bad, I know) and occasional additions of fresh water to keep the whole thing going.

However, this year we couldn’t even see through the water to determine if we had any fish left after the visit from the heron. The water was pretty solidly green, and actually, pretty solid. Sort of thickish. A friend who has a pond told me that she removes the water, cleans the pond, and has new water put in, EVERY YEAR. (Really, she hires someone to do it. Cheater.) So yesterday, in frustration about the lack of clarity in the water, we went to the pond store to see what to do, assuming that they would have a chemical solution. Enzymes! Water-purifying magical elixirs!

Nope. Empty the pond. Clean it. Put new non-chlorinated water in it. Rats.

This is what followed. For about four hours:

Gross......

Kind of embarrassing, really. But in our defense, walking in the pond stirred up a lot of crud.

On the other hand, it was a gorgeous day.

Anyone know what this is?

Today, the pond is clean and beautiful. And we discovered that we have six fish.

Until the heron shows up, I suppose.

AGE

On Getting Older


Lately, three things have come to my attention about the issue of getting older.

One:

There was a list going around on the internet on the topic of the advantages of getting older. One was that no one would accuse us of being hypochondriacs. not.funny. (Well, it sort of is, but you know what I mean.)

Two:

I listened to a man on NPR (being old and all, I can’t remember if he was a doctor or a researcher) who said that we shouldn’t call getting older aging; we should call it-----Deterioration. Not nice. Not nice at all.

And Three:

I think of myself as ME! Just plain ME. Yes, I know I’m older than I used to be. But when someone speaking about a group of people she had encountered at an event said to me: They were about your age, I thought, Wait, WHAT?

I thought I was just me, a bit older than I used to be yes, but just me. I hadn’t realized that OTHER people knew this. I thought they just thought of me as ME. Not OLD me.

My cover is blown? Or I had no cover to begin with….I was just fooling myself?

Maybe I will go for this look.

I think she's having fun.

Pioneer Woman and Memorial Day

Pictures speak a thousand words, maybe even more.

Just for Fun

Confusion

Reigns.

I used a provisional cast on for the skirt I am starting. It is supposed to be an easy way to hold live stitches. If I had used my brain, I would have remembered that I could have just cast the stitches on to my Knit Picks interchangeable needles, then taken the points off and capped the cord and kept the live stitches on the cord. But instead I crocheted a chain and knit into it.

The idea is that the red yarn would just pull out easily as I picked up the live stitches. I have tried picking up from both ends, but the waste yarn will not pull out. So I have just spent 45 minutes picking up stitches one by one, and clipping out the waste yarn stitch by stitch. And I'm only about a third of the way around the 222 stitches. Aaacccckkk.
And at last night's knit night, after I finished all the rows I needed for the skirt waistband, I started an EASY project, the Clapotis scarf. Sallyknit was wearing hers and I loved it, so since I really, really need another scarf, I picked out this lovely Malabrigo sock yarn, colorway 852 Persia, to make my Clapotis. I cast on, knit 14 rows, and pulled them out twice. It's EASY, says everyone at knit-night. Not for me, apparently. So once I finish the mess I've made of the Hip in Hemp skirt cast on, I'll try the Clapotis again.

Knitting is fun. Knitting is fun. Knitting is fun.