two knits of ivory

Barn Booster mitts, in process I'm having big thoughts this afternoon. They are too big for me. But here I am trying to make sense of them. Thought 1 I am, by nature, a pedagogue. Thought 2 I want to write patterns. Thought 3 I have no interest in making money from writing patterns. Thought 4 Giving away intellectual property for free cheapens the market for other creators. Thought 5 I believe our economic society should be mix of capitalism and socialism. We need capitalism to spur innovation, but socialism to check the insatiably voracious nature of capitalism. Thought 6 Money does not motivate me. Thought 7 The lack of money cripples me. Barn Booster mitts, in process Carry on.

Last month I mentioned I went to the annual sheep fest in New Hampshire. This and the Vermont sheep fest are the only two I've been interested in hitting for the past few years. (Just the thought of all that human traffic at Rhinebeck gives me the heebie jeebies, which is too bad since it is an extensive festival.) I also mentioned last month the lesson I learned regarding sheep fests. Now everyone is different and shops and stashes differently. Ergo this lesson may only be mine to learn, but be_that_as_it_may, I'm going to share it here 'cuz that's how I roll. Well, now that I ponder on this subject there are several lessons I have learned over the years. So here they are, with no importance implied by their ranking: 1. At any given time, I have a tendency to be in love with a narrow field of colors. So I must remember not to buy more than one yarn in the same hue and intensity. Do not do this, Morti. Why, you ask? Well when you get home and you

madelinetosh sock in Creme de Menthe So I worried half the weekend about a lot of things. And yet I still had a wonderfully decadent weekend doing very, very little. One of the things I worried upon is whether or not my last post comes across as condescending. You see, one of the things I'm really starting to be able to see in myself is that my snarky temperament comes across as condescending. The way I think and express myself does not comply to easy, modern social discourse. Most people don't want as much information about things as I seem to feel the need to express on any host of topics. If there is something being discussed, and I am partaking in said discussion, I operate under the assumption a decided opinion on the matter is my obligation as a participant. I know now that this is not true. Furthermore, I think the aforementioned belief is a byproduct of my previously unharnessed narcissism. Further furthermore, I am currently convinced that shame has

As a blogger I must come clean. There is really no scrap yarn knitting here. I am so sorry Google keeps bringing you here. Years ago I installed google analytics on this blog so that I could monitor the traffic to see how many people stop by and from where they hail. One of the things the analystics details are the keyword searches that get people to your blog. Almost all of the searches that bring people here are a variation of scrap + yarn + knitting. Oopsie! In these modest times I envision hardworking folk with not a lot of money trying to find ways to make their dollar stretch by knitting with yarn scraps and whoop! here they come to my blog full of expensive indie yarn pinny porn where I wax moronic about insipid things to which only women of privilege have the time and inclination. And because I expect everyone to be a bitter 'ol bitch like myself, I believe I hear them grumbling about my undeserving good fortune and the unfairness of it all. Well, somethi

I think part of the problem with the terms "pinny" and "domestic" porn and the whole miasmic hoopla over that book I mentioned yesterday, "The Gentle Art of Domesticity," is that said hoopla falls easily into the diodic (a word I derive from diode) war on feminism. De wimmin' ahza fightin' amongst themselves again. I fall easily into the condescension of the women's war. I'm trying not to, as if whatever plan I devise to be respectful of every stage on the continuum of the female experience will be the answer to the perpetual infighting among women. (I'm nothing if not full of myself. LOL. Yeah, that's me.) Add in that I am a woman who doesn't maintain a friendship with a single female person not related to me by blood. Being a bundle of contradictions is fun. Heheheh. So I took some pictures this morning. And I thought about pinny porn in another light than the feminist muck above. What I want out of my art i

A train of my thoughts this weekend... 1) I used to wish the world looked like pinny porn. (75% true today) 2) I only blog because I love to showcase my own pinny porn. (65% true today) 2) I read blogs because I love looking at pinny porn. (150% true every time actually I read blogs.) What do these thoughts mean? First what does pinny porn mean? Pinny porn, aka Domestic Porn, is defined on Urban Dictionary.com as "Magazines or shows that feature cooking, home decorating, or other issues of interest to women (usually yuppies), who get addicted to it the same way men do to porn." Somehow it all relates to the publication of The Gentle Art of Domesticity . But that is not a digression I wish to fluff. Pinny porn to me is the photos. Specifically, the style of photography that is indigenous to craft blogs (like mine) and a great deal of women's fiction book art. The first Twilight book cover is a good example of of pinny porn: But why, what makes it

I'm not pregnant. Those words used to be grade A surgical instrument sharp. I've been oddly near mopey lately. And I've been getting down on myself for it. Concurrently, I'm having some of the greatest work days I've had in years. Maybe it's the contrast between the euphoria of the latter and the lack of enthusiasm in the former that is making me conclude I'm mopey, when I'm just not anything in particular. Food for thought... But back to the pregnancy thing. I was out walking the dogs on my spare suburban street this morning. The sky was so blue and clear, the sun and the wind competingly fierce. (Spell check is telling me competingly isn't a word, but it is the perfect word for that thought.) My chin instinctively reached up for more sun. There was plenty of sky and it felt delicious. It dawned on me that I could be pregnant. I feel different. I am so tired, but suffering from insomnia again. I could be pregnant. Before