Just posting my work for the moment

Japan, the Press and Lethal Rain

I'm going to Japan in a couple of months and am on the getting end of a lot of concern from my loved ones, and my liked ones.  And for their concern I am profoundly grateful.  Thank you all.  I dig love, and I dig concern from loved ones.  And, you know . . .
 
A concern of mine at the moment is the way some of the press is loving the Japanese catastrophe.  Fine, Press, get all huffy, but let me give you an example or two of the way some of the press is reveling in the chance to sell product.  The Reader no doubt could supply examples of her own.

Really?  I mean, REALLY?

Some of the press, as is unfortunately not rare enough, is selling fear.  No, it's not necessarily most of the press, but it's a lot of the press.  It seems that too many "news" outlets are afraid that worldwide concern over the plight of the Japanese and fear for its own safety will dwindle and people will stop buying newspapers to help them worry.  Potential readers will, they fear, turn their attention to something other than the earthquake, the tsunami, power outages and direct danger to the workers who are braving the radiation, and so we are treated to ever-changing fears and new and evolving fears of what the radiation is going to do to the Japanese and to you and me. They're selling it hard because they can.

That's right, we're buying it.  Literally, and not just the newspapers.  You've heard, I guess, that in many places supplies of potassium iodide are gone. So, in response to the panic the irresponsible press is selling us, we are self-medicating, apparently, even though the small chance that the chemical would be harmful hugely overshadows the essentially nonexistent threat of Japanese radiation to the health of the rest of the world.  I love the above "graphic" that shows you how afraid you ought to be.  Look at that yellow cloud!  If you want to go look outside your window right now so you can see the real thing, I'll wait.

. . . 

Welcome back. Actually, it's not the graphic that I love best.  My favorite piece of fearmongery is a headline I saw in the Australian publication Perth Now:  "Nuclear crisis:  Australians stranded in Japan as lethal rain looms."

Run away!!

Hmmmm, lethal rain.  Kind of makes you wish you were back in your parents' or grandparents' 1961 fallout shelter, doesn't it?  Tell, me, Perth Now, about this lethal rain and how it's going to turn Australian tourists in Japan into latter-day Godzillas.

Happily, Perth Now does explain its commercially promising alarm: the one use in the entire story of the word "rain" comes in this sentence, in paragraph number -- wait for it -- twenty-six: "Tokyo was in gridlock with reports thousands were trying to flee amid fears the wind would bring downpours of nuclear rain."

OK.  OK.  In an effort to safeguard the public's right to know, and incidentally to pick up some loose change to the great joy of the circulation department, Perth Now's headline editor, which I'm assuming this publication has something like, scans the article, and not finding anything sufficiently newsworthy in paragraphs 1-25, warns us in this informative headline that traffic in Tokyo is heavier than usual "amid fears" that the winds would shift suddenly around to the northeast, glom onto the radioactivity, and dump it as "lethal rain" in Tokyo, thus endangering the unsuspecting Australian tourists.

See?  Proof!  It IS looming!!!!!!

It's the "amid fears" that I particularly love.  "Amid" means, I don't know, that Tokyo traffic is in gridlock for some reason and that one or more of the locked gridians are afraid (the "fears" that the reporter has discovered, somehow) that the rain contains --what? -- something lethal. Bad, anyway.

So the headline editor converts this intuition about what's causing the gridlock into the positive statement, "lethal rain looms."  Yes, it's science on a par with a uoija board, but it's presumably good news for Perth Now's shareholders.

OK, I don't really know Perth Now.  Maybe it's Perth's tawdriest tabloid, but although it's the worst example I've seen of dishing fake pain from an ocean of real pain, you've seen a bunch of stuff nearly as bad and so have I.

Note -- Since posting the rest of this, I found something called the Journalism Wall of Shame, which has a long, long list of mostly fear-mongering, often shoddy and, in may cases, hugely insensitive stories filed by, in some cases, otherwise reputable journalists.  I'd note that Perth Now's "lethal rain looms" entry was among them.  Interestingly, it rated only a 9 out of 10 on the bad journalism scale -- there were several that got the full 10.

Hey, it happened to Spiderman

And, hey, while we're on the subject, let's talk about lethality, because I think fear that's floating around is mostly fear of lethality-related radiation.  I don't think most of us really are afraid of turning into Godzilla.  Or, you know, being bitten by a radioactive ballerina and turning into a ballerina.  I think people tend to fear, radiationally speaking, what they think of generally as lethality.

Here's a chart that puts it all in perspective.  It's essentially logarithmic, so it's a little tough to understand at first, as far as relative danger of things such as eating bananas and living in a brick building for a year.  But look at it carefully and you'll see what constitutes and what does not constitute danger.  And if the chart is anywhere near accurate, living in Tokyo does not constitute danger, other than, you know, the possibility of subway gas attacks.  But that was a long time ago.

I for one am still planning my trip to Japan, without any radiation-related concern for myself, though in my constant search for something to feel guilty about I do worry about how my presence may add to some current Japanese burden. And I'm not taking potassium iodide with me.  If you worry about this national calamity and its victims, instead of buying these silly newspapers or hoarding potassium iodide, you can really help in other ways.  Click on the Red Cross logo for some of the ways.

頑張って -- let's all do our best.

Oh right, and this is theoretically a knitting blog, so also, you know, knitting.

The Thing

Nothing a little orthodontic work and a visit to Kathi couldn't fix

I don't go in for horror movies, although never having seen one, I can't really blow them off.  I just figure there's plenty of stuff in real life to scare the socks off any sane person, and I don't see any point in paying Rupert to help me with that.  As far as I'm concerned he has more than he needs already. Anyway, so I never saw The Thing, either the first time around or the more recent version.  Although, you know, come to think of it, I'm not so sure Rupert isn't the star of that movie anyway.  Oliver Stone insists they've never been seen together, and he knows all about these things.  Oh heck, you decide.

But believe it or not, this post isn't about Rupert, Fox, the Thing or even Oliver Stone.  It's about Things.

 I get them sometimes, and have most of my life.  I have no idea where they come from, but they stick around for years, and sometimes for decades.  In some cases they're just hugely abiding interests and in some cases they really become obsessions.  Knitting, I'm quite pleased to say, is a Thing.

Where do they all belong?

A Thing is an interest, but it goes beyond that.  It involves behavior and it often involves talking about it so much it bores the pants off anyone unlucky to be around me.

My first Thing, the best I can recall, was the Beatles.  That was in high school and then college and then after.  I ended up teaching a course on that subject at my college's "free college."  So I guess the first qualification for a thing is what Mr. Darcy called "the improvement of the mind by extensive reading."  Even as early as the late 1960s there were some pretty decent biographies, including one that, probably because it cut out the dodgy stuff and lavished the individual band members with pretty much unqualified praise, was "authorized."   Yeah, I'll bet.

I'll tell you: I don't know.

A few years after the Beatles, and overlapping for several decades, was Judaism, and especially Jewish history.  It became essentially a college major and was the subject of a truncated run at a graduate degree.  I read books about Judaism, I read books about Jews, I read books by Jews.  I learned Hebrew after a  fashion and immersed myself in Jewish thought.  I ended up teaching some on that too.  

I won't go into all my Things, but they've stayed with me -- WWII (which evolved out of Judaism, on a direct line through the death camps), beekeeping, modern physics and cosmology.  Most recently, by which I mean the last three or four years, it's knitting and Japanese, as you can tell by looking at my blog, if you do.  Knitting sweaters especially.  Wool.  Sheep.  Warm, snug sweaters that are proof against old man Murdoch.  Uh, winter.

No, it's not mine

Japanese, the language, the culture, the history.  I am always making up sentences in Japanese, as though to convince myself that I won't forget how to say "my name is" and "please" the minute I get off the plane in Osaka.   

My kids apparently take bets on how long a Thing will last.  They don't tell me what they're betting on, long or short.  I imagine some of the Things they think won't last actually do.  And anyway, a short run for me is a couple of years.

Things.  Who knows why they happen or what the next one will be.

Do other people have Things?  Do you?

Songs

NPR has, over the course of the last decade or two, had little pieces that particularly appealed to me on two aspects of popular music.  The first, and the one I'm thinking about right now, is songs that get stuck in your head.  When they're songs you like, it's all to the good.  At the moment I have the (very pleasant) voice of Ginger Rogers singing Jerome Kern's "A Fine Romance."  It's because "Swing Time" was on TV this weekend. 

As I said, it's all to the good.  The NPR piece, however, was more about songs you don't like having rattle around in there.  We all have them, and mine aren't going to be the same as yours.  Nonetheless, the radio piece had people calling and writing in and giving their own, which of course prompted NPR to play the selected number, to I-don't-know-whose great enjoyment.  Maybe the NPR engineer who is a full-time sadist.

Anyway, after hearing the story all the way through, one disgruntled listener, who I can only presume had no on-off switch on his radio, called in to complain about how much it had ruined his day.  In retaliation, and pretty effective, in my opinion, at the end of his call he sang the first two lines of one of the verses of "Candy Man":  Who can take a rainbow/Wrap it in a sigh.  I can say I could have done without THAT.  Ann and I have a nonbinding agreement that we don't talk about songs that are in our head, for this very reason, though I break the agreement more often than she does.  That's ok, she tells me her dreams sometimes, so I figure we're kind of even.

The other piece was on things we think songs say, that they really don't.  These are called "Mondegreens," a nonsense word which itself was an early mondegreen.  An example is from the classic Neil Young song, "Tell me Why," which instead of "When you're old enough to repay/but young enough to sell" half of the Neil-Young following population thinks is "When you're old enough to repaint/But young enough to sell."  Which, when you think about it, may make more sense.

Anyway, the NPR piece was funny because things that people think the songs say can be a hoot, mostly from the pictures they conjure up.

Again, a lot of people called or wrote NPR in response to the mondegreen segment.  There were a lot of very funny ones, but my favorite was what some imaginative soul heard in the Davy Crockett movie song.  Among his other attributes, Davy apparently was "killed in a bar when he was only 3."

I haven't been able to find the exact photo I'm looking for on google, because necessarily the toddler would have a knife clenched between his teeth and a broken-off beer bottle in his hand.  I'm thinking with Davy's reputation it took at least five full-grown men to take him down.  Anyway, I did find one photo that at least gave the idea, though he obviously is way older than the real 3-year-old.  In any event, I guess the whole Alamo thing was just part of the legend.

When I'm not knitting

When I'm home, it's typically one of two things -- one is knitting and the other is studying Japanese.  I don't even want to try to think of a way to try to do them simultaneously. 

When I study, this is what my work area tends to look like: 

It's the paper equivalent of what my knitting area tends to look like when I'm doing that.

I'm only pointing any of this out because I've been accused of doing nothing but knitting.  And since I'm done knitting for the night and ready to start studying, I thought I'd prove it to the people who occasionally take a look at my little blog.  Both of you.

BTW that character on the lower right means "wrap" or "envelop."  It's a picture of an embryo in an egg, and it's part of the overall character that means "to hug."  And although kissing is a recent phenomenon in the world of Japanese affection (witness the Japanese word for the verb to kiss -- "kisu"), the word for hug has its own Chinese character and it's very old. 

It's one of the many, many reasons I love this beautiful language.  To hug, from "wrapping" the way an egg wraps its little internal embryo.

Thing 1 and thing 2 2

Finished off #2 tonight with some excellent kitchener-related advice from Astrid. I'm not much of a photographer, but fortunately that won't matter except on this blog. Here they are,

Thing 1












and Thing 2:

I'm just about to get going on the whole reason I took up knitting 4 years ago: the snowflake sweater that will be a reminder, though not an exact replica, of the one my Mom knitted for herself, and the companion one she knitted for my Dad, presumably when they were getting along. It's the one she made for herself that I grabbed when I was 16 and eventually wore out that I loved so much. My brother got my Dad's, which was a kind of forest green.

That's why I took up knitting in the first place. I can't get my Mom back but I can get the sweater. I figured out a couple of weeks ago that that sweater is probably the reason I've always loved navy and white.

Here's the hat I knitted a couple of months ago essentially as a swatch:



As I said before, I can't (yet) produce the kind of photographs I love to see in blogs and on Ravelry, but this is the hat and this is going to be the basic pattern appearance of the sweater, the RILTK.



Well oh golly I was just about to sign off when I was looking around thinking about the sweater, and I stumbled upon a piece of it on a blog. I know this is it because I have a photo of me wearing the sweater. So here is the photo


and here is the blog I found it on. Just, I don't know, for posterity.

Thing 1 and thing 2

It's all sweaters now. I did all the hats I'm going to do for the time being, except for a cousin who's asked me vaguely to consider knitting more children's hats for, you know . . .

So now there are two new sweaters, nearly identical, completed for myself and my son.
No, that's not us. You can tell because those aren't sweaters. As soon as I can find my camera-talking-to-computer cord, I will post #1, which I finished on 22 January, and #2, which I finished today except for kitchener-ing up the armpits.

I love love love this pattern because there are only these two little seams and the kitchener stitches totally hide them, besides which you wouldn't see them most of the time anyway since they're the armpits, unless, you know, you were playing basketball in them. Which, seeing as how they're very toasty, I don't recommend.

I did one for my son accidentally. Not that he doesn't deserve one, which he does, what a great person, but of course we all think that and I won't bore you with that, I'll bore you with the rest of this story. Except that the only two people I know who read this already know this story, so I won't bore THEM with it I don't think, because if I were them I wouldn't read a story I'd already heard a boring enough oral version of once already.

But the thing is, in case anyone at all has come this far, I mis-arithmeticked (the blogspot spell-checker is working overtime tonight) the sweater I was going to knit for myself because I didn't include the ease, so the boy gets that. And I get the other one, which I wore last week and it fits quite nicely.

The weather was really sweet this weekend (I don't care about sun or rain but I do so like when it gets warmer) so melting most of the remaining North Carolina mountain snow left over, in amongst my woods, from Christmas plus a similarly unusually deep snow that happened the second weekend in January.

It's not even February yet, though. We're in the middle of the period I've always referred to as the "Days of Dearth," which is January 15 to February 15. It's not that the weather is dismal, it's that the weather is dismal and the hope of spring is really not in sight. Fortunately, I now have the Kanuga Knitting & Quilting Retreat on Martin Luther King weekend, which I don't seem to be able to shut up about, and which, in addition to Thanksgiving, is really the big deal of the year for me. Except this year, of course, I'm traveling solo to Japan in June, so that may be pretty cool too.



That's no one I know, just a photo I like.

f/c

Those who know me well, and I'm fairly open with my friends, know that I have a theory for just about every incidental thing that comes along.

There's the Pez theory of anxiety, the tunnel theory of procrastination, the Chinese Boy Syndrome (a theory of guilt assumption).

One of my theories is the Theory of Deciding Whether to Eat Something that May Be Fattening. It's shortened as "f/c," which is read as "flavor to calorie ratio."

A case in point: Sour Cream-Orange Cake.

You may or may not think this sounds good. I, for one, think that anything that has a starch base and contains the word "orange" is worth committing any number of selected felonies for. Getting fatter, though, is a dicier proposition.

The Sour Cream - Orange Cake I was looking at, one of Mollie Katzen's more sinister compositions, has as its dairy ingredients a cup and a half each of butter and sour cream. This is of course not including flour, eggs and sugar. And this is all in one standard-sized cake.

Oh, did I mention the syrup?

What I'm getting to (yes, I am!) (eventually!) is that this very, very delightful food has essentially the same flavor-to-calorie ratio as tap water and celery sticks. It's not that it doesn't make you fat, it's just that it's worth it.

So there are foods that have a high f/c, such as pretzels and sushi, and low f/c, such as (for me -- no hate mail please) shortbread. I make a lot of shortbread, but I don't really eat it. It just doesn't have enough flavor in it for me to outweigh all those calories.

Forgive me please for getting off the subject of knitting and on to the subject of dessert math. I am getting close to finishing this Fair Isle sweater and if I can figure out how to take a decent photograph and post it, I will. Varian Brandon created this pattern and she's one of the best, IMHO.

If a tree

I got the shock of my life the other day.

Oh heck, I exaggerate.

I went to a knitting retreat this past weekend and heard from a friend there that she had read something on my blog. This came as something of a surprise. I had always assumed that my previous writings were going into space like radio broadcasts from the 1930s, never perishing but never to be observed again.

Blogs are, in my experience, a lot like valedictory addresses. It is difficult to write them without making them, in the end, all about oneself. Or at least it seems to be so these days. There was a day, real or imagined, when our mothers taught us not to turn the conversation to ourselves, or at least not to go on and on about this ultimately (to most people other than the speaker) uninteresting subject.

That day, I fear, has largely receded. In this blog as in so many others.

Wherefore, thank you Ann, for letting me know that someone has reached out into the cosmic recesses and read something of mine. It may, just possibly, give me the impetus to draw up to my keyboard and write again.

Milton's Birthday

Today is John Milton's birthday. 400th, to be exact. Down at the lower right I keep a copy of his poem "On His Blindness," the source of the title of my blog "They Also Serve."

In honor of this 400th birthday though I'm reprinting it here.

The way I read it, Milton would like to serve God better but feels prevented by his blindness from doing so as vigorously as sighted people might. He realizes that God does not perhaps see this as preventing service.

To better understand it, think of the word "light" as meaning "sight."

On His Blindness

WHEN I consider how my light is spent
E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide,
Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, least he returning chide,
Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,
I fondly ask; But patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts, who best
Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and waite.

They also snob

The only person who likes a snob is either the snob herself or a fellow snob. At my circle we're pretty much all snobs so we tend to get along pretty well in the main.

My subject today is a "craft store" whose name, other than to tell you it's Michaels, shall remain nameless.

I refer principally to an incident that happened about a year ago, when my daughter, whom I'd just taught to knit, came home for Thanksgiving during her sophomore year in college up in Yankeeland (where, I admit, they often have a deeper appreciation for knitting, or at least for wool) with a newly made, apparently errorless scarf. I even mentioned it in a previous story here.


What I didn't mention was that I asked her, as you would have, what the yarn was and where she got it. It was, I think, a blend of mostly acrylic. Fine. I have no beef with acrylic. I don't use it usually except for things that are going to get frequent use by someone under 18 months, but that's just a matter of my personal wool worship. I understand this to be a matter of taste.

But then she told me she got the yarn at Michaels. (Pardon the absence of the apostrophe but so it appears to be in the original. I cannot help but think that several Michaels own the store. It is patently untrue that the store's only inventory is people named Michael.)

When she said the word, I wrinkled my nose. I protest that I did so not out of pure personal snobbery, but out of something of a collective judgment. For the people I knit with, the action is part of the pronunciation of the name. It's like this: "Michaels" -- half pause -- nose wrinkle.

This could be because I knit with these people in a yarn store, whose livelihood depends in some respects on customers' judgment that their favorite yarn is in some way superior to Caron® One Pound®. Whatever the reason, we consider ourselves too good for the likes of a concern that sells mediocre greeting cards and plastic giraffes among other "TONS OF GIFTS UNDER $5." In fact, I don't think most knitters like to think in terms of tons of anything, unless it is perhaps tons of musk oxen with their annual output of .08 ounces of qiviut.

So yes, we are smugly satisfied that our yarn is better than that. I imagine we secretly believe that if we bought a mass of Red Heart Designer Sport at our home store it would acquire a patina of elegance compared to the same yarn at Michaels. But my store doesn't sell Red Heart, so I'll never know.

Right now I'm on a Shetland kick. In the last few months I've been trying to convince some folks in Scotland to send me a yarn sample card. They promised me they'd do it about three months ago, and again about three weeks ago, but, you know, they just haven't yet. They may just be over there wrinkling up their collective Scotts noses when they hear I'm an American.

It's disgusting how some people can be such snobs.

I'm Away From My Desk Right Now . . .

but yeah, your call is very important to me.

This is a busy time of year, in the sense of being away from home a bunch. Missing two meetings of the knitting group. That sort of thing. Once for Thanksgiving and once for the Clergy Spouses' Retreat.

Fortunately, I have this Einstein Coat thing to keep me company. This is what it isn't going to look like:

The image calls it a "jacket" and the picture looks like its given name -- a coat. The way it knits up is mostly jacket-like, because it's not as long as in the picture.

I ignored the specific directions and am knitting a coat for Ann. The problem is that I've ripped out the bottom half once and the top half at least twice. I've tried to improve on the directions and I keep forgetting things. I want it done by Christmas, so I can give it to Ann as a present.

Then I'll start my second Aran sweater. Or ALO (Aran-like object). I can't wait to do it and I will be doing it, with any luck, while at the knitting (and quilting)retreat, while taking, that is, a class on Aran Knitting, taught by Varian Brandon.

I recently realized that I didn't exactly start doing Aran knitting with the sweater. I kind of waded into it with hats and scarves and the like, getting a little more Aran-like with each one. Suffering, I suppose, from acute Aranoia.

Perhaps after all it isn't a coincidence that my firstborn is named Aaron.

What, again?

I haven't posted for very nearly a year. Oh well, enough of that.

I have been very busy knitting. Did a whole bunch of stuff, but mostly finished a sweater recently, of the Aran variety. I did a typo on that last sentence the first time through. What do you suppose an Arab sweater is?

So here it is. My first sweater.

It's really hard to see the detail so I took some closeups. So here they are. Front and back.

The overall pattern is mine, but the big knot is from Janet Szabo, who has become something of the center of my knitting world in the past few months. One day I suppose I'll grow up and do fair isle sweaters, but for the moment I'm doing cables and more cables.

It's been a year, as I've said, and I have done a lot of knitting, and mostly knitting it seems, in between job and family. I've been to SAFF and Rhinebeck, knitted scarves and hats and mittens and this sweater. A baby blanket or two. Three really, and almost finished with Ann's coat. And a knitting retreat with Varian and the others. I've done a lot but no blogging.

Well, as I said, I have a lot to blog about. But as one who was certainly wiser than I once said, "All in good time."

May the blogging deities assist me.

As Fast as You Can

Every year the Grove Park Inn in Asheville has a gingerbread house contest. We try to get there if we can. We went tonight. We didn't see as many houses as we usually see, but there were some pretty spectacular ones.











The best I can tell these are basically 100% edible ingredients, though many of them are only a little gingerbread.










The dentist changed his mind. He's taking out my infected wisdom tooth tomorrow. I think this is what Jim Henson died of. Or maybe not. Anyway, if you don't hear from me again, and you find this little out-of the way blog, remember me kindly.

Instruction headaches

My problem is that when I work from a pattern there are terms i don't understand. I have been knitting for about thee quarters of a year and I am getting some techniques but these terms that people just toss into the instructions are killing me. They may not mean anything.

My proposal, and I bet I'm not the first to have this idea, is that anyone putting instructions out into the public domain run the instructions by a person at the lowest level of familiarity with the operation. This goes for assembling tricycles, for cooking perhaps, but definitely for knitting.

My specific problem at the moment is Eunny Jang's anemoi mittens. They are really splendid. I am knitting them and, as usual, am learning a lot. My problem is that I keep coming across expressions I am unfamiliar with. They are not defined in the glossary.

1. "Begin working mitten body chart (first four chart rows should be worked as slip-stitch rounds; use only one strand of specified yarn)."

The first five words I understand perfectly. The term "slip-stitch round" I am unfamiliar with. I put it out at the circle on Saturday and no one had the slightest idea what it meant. Yes we all know what slip stitches are. What is a slip stitch round? One of the knitters suggested I ignore the term and just knit. "Use only one strand of specified yarn." What? What is she saying? I'd feel stupider I hadn't asked all the knitters what she meant. I just ignored this and kept knitting.

Fine. I got past it and knitted a couple of dozen rows. Now:

2. "Slip 25 thumb gore sts between markers to scrap yarn."

Sorry. I think I know how to slip stitches, and yes I have 25 between the markers and if she really wants me to slip them I will, but what does "to scrap yarn"mean?

This is not a pattern reserved for 10-year veterans, at least according to the terms of the pattern. "This pattern is a good project for knitters comfortable with colorwork in the round."


Comfortable with colorwork in the round describes me to a T.


Google pretty much gives me all these references to scrap yarn and what to do with my scrap yarn. I don't think that's what this pattern has in mind; if it does I'm even more in the dark.


I'll put it aside again until Saturday and see if anyone else can figure this out.


In the meantime I'm just making some slippers on a little nothing cable thing of my own devising. I pull them out whet I get to a wall.

Wisdom Literature

I went to the clergy spouses' retreat this weekend. It was pretty fabulous. Yoga, massage, meals, a little night theater, and whatever else we felt like doing. Fortunately, and I say this in complete modesty, we had me along.

I never ever like to talk people into doing things, exactly, but I was ready for anyone to knit who wanted to. When I get excited about something I think I just get infectious about it. My friend Cheri, who is a clergy spouse but was at the same center for a different retreat, remarked that I was always pleased to find myself the center of attention. I replied that she had certainly nailed that aspect of it, although I said (and she agreed) that I really did want to knit and the knitting aspect of it was what I wanted to do, and I would have been there knitting even if I were the only one. But yeah, that other thing too.

Eventually, anyway, there were lots of knitters doing their stuff, and, although they had brought their projects just in case, I don't know that everybody expected to knit when they came. It all turned out well. There were more knitters than hikers even, which proves my theory that good sense will always prevail.

Unfortunately I lost a pretty massive filling in my molar, and I think the molar or the jaw or something is getting infected, and the lymph node is swollen, and it feels as though there is a hard-boiled egg lodged in my neck. I called the dentist and he prescribed some penicillin and I hope he will see me on Monday and probably take this stupid molar out, which he has been wanting to do for 15 years.

The great news is that I finally, after 15 or 16 false starts, have my daughter's mittens underway. It is by far the most times I have ever started a project, and of course it's not through yet, even the first mitten, in fact it's just past the cuff ribbing, but I feel as though this time it's going to take. It was mostly a matter if the right needles and the right tension.

Here's what it looks like at the moment:

So that was the first annual clergy spouses' retreat and I think everybody had a really great time, and I'm expecting it went well enough that there will at least be a second one. One of the cool things about being with clergy spouses is that they don't take the priests and bishops and deacons nearly as seriously as their congregations do, and, in many cases (I suspect) as seriously as the clergy take themselves.

I have a photo I took of a bunch of the group in the dining hall.

Tales of Thanksgiving

Tale 1. The hats.

Amy sent me some pics of her kids feeding chickens and wearing the hats I made. I think she wanted me to see that they were actually willing to wear them. As well she might -- they yanked them off the first time she tried to put the hats on them, and the second and the third. Later she told me that they were just being shy of dressing for me, but I admit she had to send the pics for me to completely believe it.

I was really more interested in the kids feeding the chickens. I don't think they had ever seen chickens before. It was cool.

Tale 2. The Circle.

A very short tale. Nobody came. One person came and stayed for about an hour. Other than that there was nobody but Donna, the store owner. I took some pics to show how empty it was. I assume it was just a Saturday after Thanksgiving thing. You can see the meringues I made. I don't know how it happened but at the end of the day there were only 2 left. I think the customers ate them maybe.

Tale 3. My daughter's Scarf.

I thought she did a fabulous job. This is the first thing she ever knitted. She did it at school and brought it home at Thanksgiving to show me. Extra chunky yarn and pretty big needles, from the look of it. I rarely use anything bigger than 8s and these look to be in the mid 30s. Or maybe about 13-14.

Tale 4. A Plague of Frogs.

I tried making the anemoi mittens. It is really a new and very challenging experience. I am having trouble knitting on 4 needles. 0s at that. I have frogged this thing at least 8 times so far. Finally I decided to try this on circulars. Addis. I am farther along now than the best I did on 4 dpns. We'll see.

Tale 5. Not a tale, really.

I'm going to a clergy spouse's retreat this weekend. First annual. Yoga, massage, R&R. The diocese is picking up the entire tab. I could get used to this real quick.

Braided cable scarf.

This one doesn't really show the color but it does show the pattern. Until I made this scarf I didn't think much of seed stitching. Now I've kind of warmed to it I must say.

I thought the braided cables would be kind of cool. I keep saying it -- I'm a sucker for cables.

The color in this top pic shows up a little too red -- the yarn is really light blue. You can see it much better in the second photo.


I taught my daughter to knit right before she went back to college this year -- she tells me she has a scarf knitted for someone too but I have yet to see it. I can't wait. It's really exciting to know that I'm passing something like this on.

Tomorrow I'm starting on the anemoi mittens I'm knitting for her, for Christmas I hope.

Up on the housetop

I finished my son's girlfriend's Christmas stocking tonight. This is a pattern for a stocking my siblings and I grew up with, more or less; my grandmother knitted it for us. When my kids were born my Mom knitted the same general pattern for them.

I get sad from time to time that my mom never saw me knit. In a way I'm knitting this for my mom and grandmother.

Anyway it's a third generation knitted object, and I'll be really glad to see it hanging up witht he rest of them.

Is She a Goer?

Photography. It appears to be the central skill in the blog post. Knitting and writing are perhaps distant also-rans.

It's a skill that unfortunately eludes me at present. Amy's second toddler hat, at right, refuses to to show off its cables I'm afraid. A pity I think because I'm such a sucker for cables.

I am pleased to say that the young man ran off with the hat before I had a chance to take a piccy of the finished product. Now that I'm not watching him he's willing to keep it on his head.

With any luck his sister will also develop a fondness for hers, pictured here.

My secret ingredient was two rows of K above the ribbing all the way around to give the hat more ease in flipping up the ribbing. Flipping the ribbing up can give a modest hipness to the dweebiest of hats.

BTW tonight I also made the chocolate lava cakes for tomorrow's knitting group. It's all this Belgian bittersweet chocolate and a bunch of butter and flour who knows what else. Vanilla extract I made from some vanilla beans and some brandy I've had around for a long, long time.