knitter next door

How I became a girl who can't say no to knitting (and other musings on obsession) esimnitt (at) yahoo (dot) com

Monday, September 26, 2005

Does this fit?

I'm too lazy to try to figure out a picture to go with this post, so you'll have to make do with linking to pages with pictures on them. I'm just too tired, too out of inspiration and too engrossed in Lucky to do anything else.

Whne my hands would get too cramped from knitting the clover leaf pattern over and over and over again, I'd take a break, hop in my car and hit the mall. I made three trips: one Friday for Gap camis and a jacket; one Saturday for a Gap sweater; and one Sunday to make sure I purchased the right Gap sweater and too hook up with pink boots. Why so many trips? If you're asking this, you've never shopped with me and my big fat neurosis.

While many people can go to the store, find something they like, buy it and carry on in their merry little way, I have to obsess and stew about whether I made the right decision, whether the size is just right, whether I should have spent the money. It doesn't matter how perfect the object. There's a mandatory period of stew during which I drive my husband crazy.

Sample conversation:

Me: "Do you think this sweater looks too small?"
Mr. Knitter: "It looks great."
Me: "But it sort of feels like it might pull funny in the shoulders when I scrunch down like this."
Mr. Knitter: "It looks cute."
Me, tugging at the sweater sleeves: "But what if it doesn't fit? What will I do?"
Mr. Knitter: "I'm going to kill myself now."

This happens for almost every thing I purchase. And I bought a lot of stuff this weekend. (That resolution not to buy any new clothes this year? Yeah, that's so far out the window it's in the next state). My poor hubby. He's such a good bloke, too, buying me my Cruiser for my birthday, finding me the discounted Timbuk2 bag, baking me breakfast scones, letting me extend my birthday priveleges to a week and a half.

I guess I'll have to ask the cat what he thinks of these shoes make my feet look fat (yes, it can happen; at least in my universe).

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Birthday Thoughts

Things it's taken me 31 years to learn:

1. You can get the eau de thrift store smell out of second hand purses (thus freeing them up for purchases with greater frequency).

2. You can never have too many purses. That one purse I carried around like a sucker for five years? You can blame that on the hubby's convincing argument. I'm older and wiser now (which means I shop alone or with the girlfriends).

3. I don't have a photographic memory (this is actually something I learn over and over again). For example, when I tell myself I don't need to look at the pattern for the left front of Lucky because I've already made the right front, someone needs to knock me upside the head.

4. Speaking of Lucky, I'm the luckiest girl around.

I'll leave it at that with a big thanks to all my great friends and family for the birthday bootie and wishes that always make September 20 my favorite day of the year.
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Monday, September 19, 2005

Woo! Hoo!

This post is all about the birthday booty. Witness: A brand new yellow cruiser that perfectly matches the nearing-completion Lucky (and that, folks, is all the knitting you'll get in this post). The actual big day isn't until tomorrow, but we celebrated this weekend. First, we went to the Cottonwood Grille (swanky, yet casual enough to serve French fries with the steamer clam appetizer). Then it was over to the mom-in-law's for dessert. While waiting for my lemon-blueberry crisp to be cut, I did what I always do when there's a free, on computer in the vicinity: Surfing blogs, reading Knitty and googling all my favorite yarns. Then the mom-i-l says: "Do you want ice cream on yours?" Now, I should have known this was a trick question, because when have I ever been known to turn down ice cream? But, like an unsuspecting sucker, I turned around to say, "Duh," and there, in the middle of the kitchen, sat the bike. I immediately had to take it for a few spins around the cul de sac, even though it was dark and the hubby hadn't hooked up the non-battery powered light. Weeeeee! My hubby knows how to do a birthday right!

The facts: It's a Tradewind Limited Del Sol cruiser, which means it has three speeds (so I can get back up the hill from downtown)and coaster brakes. Stay tuned to see it get baskets and other accessories. (I hope my mountain bike doesn't get too jealous). Posted by Picasa

Weeeeee! Action shot of me an my new Del Sol birthday cruiser. Posted by Picasa

Here it is again in still shot. Posted by Picasa

Saturday, September 17, 2005

I Heart Target, Too

Target, my love. How you soothe me when I'm feeling down! It's boot frenzy here in the Pacific Northwest. My boss bought two pair last week, another co-worker bought one and yet another co-worker reportedly bought three pair (although I've yet to see proof of this). It makes me so green with envy, as, apparently, my deformed feet cannot be contained within any of this season's boots.

Yes, my deformed feet. The salesman kindly explained to me that I could practically step out of these cutie boots due to my heel being too narrow and flat in the back. Most of you out there have perfectly normal curved heels which cling to the boot and keep it on. Not me. I already knew my feet were comically long and narrow (the hubby dubs them "the skis"). Now I now my heel is misshapen. I may never get the pair of boots that are my due. And in my birthday month too!

This is where Target comes in: To ease my achy-breaky-bootless-scootin'-boogie heart, I took a trip to my favorite cheapspot. Yes, I know it's not a locally owned company. And, yes, I realize that it may appear that the three t's I bought violate my year without new clothes rule. But T-shirts are like underwear, and I ain't buying or wearing or even touching on the rack no used underwear. I haven't broken my resolution, really.

Instead, I was able to feel a lot better about myself. Apparently my boobs and shoulders don't share the same deformity of my foot, thus allowing the t-shirts to fit. I can't walk out, roll out, dance out of these babies.

Plus (and here is where the knitting comes in), Target, via my hubby, supplied me with fun, $1-a-skein yarn for guilt free experimentation, like Brynne. (You may recall he bought said yarn whilst I lay at home puking on the couch a few weekends ago, suffering from the same virus that felled him BEFORE Labor Day weekend, instead of during, like it did for me).

So, the verdict: Now, I'm no expert knitter. I've been casting on for about two years and I somehow squeaked through a Charlotte's Web and am close to finishing a Lucky. This little bit of nothing almost kicked my butt. I kept dropping stitches. Pick them up through this furzy yarn ain't no picnic. (Aside: I can use "ain't" as much as I want. That's what getting that Master's degree in English earned me). I'll only recommend this yarn to the truly broke. Or maybe someone suffering from the heartache of a failed shopping expedition.

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Monday, September 12, 2005

The Knitty and the Gritty

First, the gritty. That's where the lovingly-worn Chuck's come in. They're my preferred vehicle for walking the hood in this gorgeou-mont (D's word) fall weather we've been having. Unfortunately, as of late, they've been used more for dodging dog poop than walking. Really, people. If your dog takes a crap in the middle of the sidewalk, other people will notice. Other people will probably step on it, and I can only hope that some of them might track it all over your shag carpet. It's disgusting. It's gross. It's irresponsible. And it hangs out for a really, really long time.

As part of an experiment, I've been watching closely a mound left on the sidewalk just yards from the elementary school. I want to see how long it lasts. As of today, we're going on three weeks. Sure, it looks like it's been kicked around a bit (probably by an innocent young first grader) and it's taken on a dry, crumbly outer coat. But it's still definitely recognizable as poop. And it still mars an otherwise lovely fall breeze with its unmistakable doody stank. Look, irresponsible dog owner, at your legacy to my hood. Gross.

With that scraped off my shoes, now for the knitty: See that pile o'pink by the Chuck's? I always prefer a pile o' yarn to a pile o' dog doo-doo. However, this non-stinky (when dry) mound of Lotus Pink Brown Sheep worsted has proven problematic. I aquired it early in my yarn buying days, back when I was color blind to everything but hot pink yarn. It's a lot of pink for one sweater. But, with the debut of last week's Knitty, I think it's met its match. God bless you, Brynne, with your inspired Samus pattern. I can't get enough cardigans. I've got more than enough yarn. I'm thinking it will be a match made in heaven.

Now, can someone solve the dog poop problem, please?
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Sunday, September 11, 2005

Thank you, little brown sheep!

Oh, how I love my Brown Sheep! This sweater/hat combo, knit in Persian Peacock worsted and Victorian/Lotus pink bulky, respectively, kept me nice and toasty for one last trip to the woods. When we looked at the thermometer in our Boler this morning, it read 24 degrees. That's a might too cool for me under normal conditions (I'd definitely freak if that's how cold it was in my house, for example). But thanks to these knitted items and the sheep that grew wool for them, I survived and had a very nice time to boot.

BTW, in looking at some photos of me in this hat, I hearby dub it "Strawberry Shortcake," after the doll, not the dessert.

And, if you're wondering, work continued on Lucky...almost done with the right front. To reward myself for my progress, I started a pair of cabled rib socks for moi from knits.
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Sunday, September 04, 2005

At a loss

Not my knitting. Not my bike. So why am I posting this?

First, I've been knitting my little fingers to the bone, but it's still all about Lucky and the last thing this world wide web needs is another photo of my partially finished cardigan.

Second, my husband gave me a nasty 24-hour flu bug just in time for Labor Day weekend. While today I can sit here and type (with a few breaks to go moan on the couch), there's no getting up to take a new picture. From 2 a.m. Saturday morning to 2 p.m. Saturday afternoon, I couldn't move. Not even from the couch in the living (which doesn't have a tv) to the couch in the family room (which does). I haven't been this sick since I was a kid. The Huz had the same sickness, only he got to take two days of sick time last week. But I? Here I am, two days into a precious three-day weekend, and I'm still feeling ishy. It's total crap. (Although that awesome hubby and carrier of the virus had already figured out the restorative powers of a cherry coke from Sonic, so he went and bought me one, along with a huge bag o' furzy yarn from Target because he knows I'm on a yarn diet. Awwww. What a sweety!)

And then there's all this Hurricane Katrina. I've been drawn to the coverage, horrified at the loss of the life, the loss of order, the loss of the beautiful buildings and funky culture. All while I lie helpless on my couch, trying not to throw up.

Now, back to the picture.

I took it earlier this summer for a pattern my knitting buddy I came up with and unsuccessfully submitted to Knitty. The bike is the knitting buddy's. So is the shrug and the lovely French Market bag. Maybe the rejected pattern (the shrug) will get posted on this blog one day...stay tuned. Now, excuse me while I go carry on with the "poor me" routine on the couch.

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