two knits of ivory

Madtosh DK in Logwood Okay, so yarn can't jingle or jangle. But these are the words that my muse calls forth. She speaks, I write. "So sue me," as we used to say back in the day. I've started my ninth Shetland Triangle...in Sundara ASM. Sundara ASM in Marina over Icicles Yum Yummity Yum Yum, Yum Yum Yum Yum. I didn't get any conventional shots of the last two shawls I finished, my Fjording Shetland and the Mint Chocolate Chip Ishbel. Here's a pic of the latter taken by muse: I bought this ridiculously expensive purse back in June or July and so I've spent the summer saving my pennies up again, with nary a skein stashed in e.o.n.s. After finishing up this merino/cashmere blend Ishbel I fell off the wagon and bought a six pack of Madelinetosh's Pashima , which is merino, silk, and cashmere. Ooh la la. I've got a motif design bonging around in my brain. It refuses to coalesce. That's why I started the Shetland. I need ...

My thoughts come to me in song. Why is that? Lots of bibble babble (w)rankling around in my noggin'. The irony of Keanu Reeves in the Matrix trilogy, starting from the first moment of the first movie, is that his character, Neo, has a preternatural love connection to mankind. Yet Keanu, the actor, has a notoriously blank visage. I guess that allows the viewer to project their own selves onto the screen. Is that genius or accident? Watched The Runaways . Not sure if I like it yet - opinion still in the computational phase. I lurv when I knit a hole in my cake: I knit an Ishbel in eight days. Eight days. Booyah. Hubby offhandedly commented on the fact that I have a lot of shawls, as if to say "umm, do you need more shawls?" What I see that is different about me is that I like to do the same thing over and over again. Knit the same pattern, listen to the same soundtrack, rewatch a season of a TV show, reread/relisten to the Twilight series. My in...

I finished my eighth(!) Shetland Triangle this weekend. No, that picture above is not the Shetland Triangle. I don't have any recent pictures. I'm not motivated to take pictures of anything lately, even the record number of yarn skeins I wound into cakes on Saturday. Instead of bemoaning my creative paucity, I've decided to fill in the blanks with an unblogged project from last year's deadspot. Last spring I knit a lovely Serenity baby blanket for my husband's best friend's first child, a baby girl. Did I mention this is a free pattern? It is a free pattern, and from the charts at least, an error free, free pattern. I really enjoyed knitting this project. And the reason's why are, what? What did I like about this project? Do I even know? Hmmm. 1) The lace was challenging but not fussy. 2) The occasional cabling was easy, and eye pleasing. 3) The yarn is Dream in Color's Classy, in the Chinatown Apple colorway. I took a big ...

Thoughts for the day... 1) I've only knit one gift this calender year, a ribbed hat for my niece Meaghan. 2) Be careful what you wish for. I wished for a day doing nothing on the couch yesterday and that's what I received. I couldn't get out of my own way; I was molasstic inertia. The list of what I didn't do with all those voluptuous hours of freedom is long and sad and whah whah whah all the way home. It really pisses me off when the precious hours and days of my life are squandered. What some people wouldn't give for the leisure and bounty of my small life and I don't take advantage of it. I am unable to take advantage of it. What causes this paralysis? What makes me inert? Is it guilt or trauma or stupidity? Maybe that's why I've always been unsympathetic to the travails of Hamlet. I don't like what I see, because I see it in me. No matter how bitter the above tone, I am not really miserable, just exasperated with myself...

When I was a young'un I was entranced by multiple personality disorders. Where most children spend their time learning gender and societal normative behaviors, I was drawn to all that was non-normative. Now that I've come to see my past and present through the prism of post-trauma, I am realizing that multiple personalities are the sign of a healthy mind, not just a mental illness caused by abuse, as immortalized in popular culture by the books and movies about Sybil and Eve . I think I shall call my inner berator Mrs. Norris, after Jane's uber-bossy, illiberal, and admirably indefatigable Mansfield Park character. She thinks she knows what is best for me and up until this year, I've ceded to her all too often. When Mrs. Norris says "Complete this knitting project; you started it - now finish it." I have the good sense to question her admonition. No longer do I obey, meekly and miserably, or rebel, just as miserably. Case in point, I began a new s...

In the flush of first love my husband told me he would bring me the jewels of the world. He's fabulously corny like that. He means it from the depths of his unironic, romantic soul. Of course, I'm a cynic. I smiled at him, most likely batting my eyes, and thought to myself, oh yeah, I'll hold my breath for that. Not. Other than requiring a big fat engagement ring to satisfy the poor girl chip on my shoulder, I have very little interest in jewels or jewelry. This weekend, though, I realized that my husband has been keeping his word. The skein of yarn above is Sundara sock in the Candle to the Sun colorway. (I'm not sure if it was a limited edition or one-off colorway). When I was sick a few weeks ago, my hunny offered to buy me yarn to help me feel better. This skein was one of three colorways I purchased under this directive. Almost all the yarn I've been stashing lately has been purchased by the hubster. Who knew when he promised me the jewels of ...

OMG do I need to get that self important drama llama ding dong from Tuesday off the top shelf! It hurts to look at it, but look at I do and do and do. I'm obsessed with my own experiences. I'm obsessed with squeezing every fucking drop of meaning out of every gosh darn thing. Hello, calling Mrs. M. Umm, that's how you roll. So deal. And deal I do. But today (yeah!) I am beginning to grasp at the fringes of self mockery and it feels awesomesauce. A.W.E.S.O.M.E.S.A.U.C.E. Ring around the drama llama. I've decided to blame Wharton for this recent setback. I finally took out a book and used my eyes to read it and it wasn't about Bella fuckin' Swan. Miracle of miracles! (OMG! what's that song?!? - "vanity of vanities the whole thing is a vain parade" - Hand of God, Soundgarten.) (Yes, welcome to two knits, the home of the vain parade. Snerk.) I haven't picked up Wharton in many years and my perspective on her writings has cha...

My mind is all over the place these days. One minute there's some funneh , the next there's national socialism . These are the daemons I can't control. And I have to remind myself I am not responsible for them or the repercussions of their crazeh. But then there are the daemons I can control: Sundara Sport in LE color Time Travels Sundara Sport in Glacier Two different intensities of Madtosh Sport in Cove Madtosh Sport in Violin There are as many opinions about stash as there are people. I have, in fact, two paradoxical opinions. The first opinion is that "one should only have the yarn one needs to knit now." The second opinion is "Pretty! Wowza! Pretty! I wanna, I wanna, here's my money give give give it to me now! NOW!" The latter opinion has been the dominant one at chez yarn for over almost two years. I now have no more room for yarn. Or should I say, I don't want to make anymore room for yarn. The amoun...

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality. ~ Emily Dickinson This is the thought that came to me as I opened the "new post" window. My muse speaks and I never understand her. 'S okay. I'm used to it. I am growing more and more devoted each day to giving her free reign. Or, should I say, my capacity for indulging her is growing each and every day? Some days she takes on mythic proportions. Other days? Notsomuch. There was a bit of a lull in knitting at chez yarn. 'S okay, too. I'm listening to my inner knitter agitate over the fact I haven't had an FO in forever and I've cast on a new project. She can suck an egg. Yeah. That's the ticket. Wow, there's a tone change. This project, another pair of Waving Lace socks with Sundara sock yarn, has been given the frothy name "Escape to Russet Moon Mountain." (If you're into Twilight snark, tak...

When Ted and Sylvia Plath Hughes purchased their first home in North Tawton, Devon, England in the early sixties, Sylvia, the whirling dervish that she was, immediately set about making the house a home. She painted the walls, doors, woodwork, furniture, and probably even some of the floors. This part of her story is always guaranteed to make me feel like a sloth. From the numerous biographical material I've read over the years, the house held a room on the second floor which was hers, and hers alone. A writing study. One of the room's most prominent features was a vivid red floor rug. Or was it walls (or both)? I'm pretty sure it was the carpet, but I'm far too focused on my thoughts to ferret the truth out of my bookcase. Sylvia was invigorated by color, especially red. She believed it actively fed her creativity. As a knitter, I identify with this; color is my primary inspiration. What I realized last month is that the color of my projects can either ...

My year in review post is languishing in the edits folder. I'm languishing in real life. Adrift. The agony of humanity has me in it's lurid possession. There's no funneh at chez yarn. All I am capable of is mute rage. I am doing my best not to think of Haiti. I can successfully ignore the acute human suffering. I know I don't have the capacity to carry that burden so I keep it safely outside my heart. What I can't prevent penetrating and gnawing at the edges of my sympathy is the confidence that whichever multinational, for-profit organization(s) gets it's(their) dirty prongs on this crippled, destabilized country will be exploiting it for the next two generations or more. Yarn? More yarn...

I'll be sad when green goes out of fashion again making purchasing things in this evocative color elusive. I luvs me some green. The yarn is Sundara's fingering silky merino in the limited edition colorway of "The Tree I Climbed."

I am a narcissist. A real one, like textbook real. My narcissism doesn't conform to the textbook definition, as well it shouldn't; personality disorders aren't one size fits all. So, with an "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" mentality, I do spend considerable time performing mental gymnastics to make said narcissism less, well, narcissistic. It does make sense. It does. So Friday and Saturday I had a ferocious need to finish up my first Clothilde . It came out beautiful in the last of my Sundara Sport. I told myself that as soon as this was done I'd finish up the last bit of my Christmas knitting. Midnight Moon Clothilde This is what happened after I finished washing and blocking the Clothilde: Strange Fruit Clothilde And I did it with a chuckle, instead of disapprobation. A woman's gotta knit what a woman's gotta knit. I think part of my problem is that there is too much blue in my knitting basket. The original Clothilde and the C...

I was all gangbusters on my Christmas knitting. Until I wasn't. You know how it is, don't you? I'm trying not to paint myself into the "selfish hoar" corner, but depending on the moment, I'm either successful or I'm not. My mind knows I've been working on gift socks since October, and thinking and stashing for them as early as September. I'm on my last pair and I know I could do them if I just stick my mind to it but I donna wanna. "Selfish hoar." "Awwww, shutuppayouface." All I can think about is that I haven't knit myself a pair of socks since May. Waving Lace Socks Sundara sock, Marina over Icicles. And what good are buckets full of sock yarn if they're not being knit into socks for memememememe? "None" would be the answer, but that would be incorrect. Sock yarn is good in and of itself; it doesn't need to be anything, it just needs to be. "But still" she whines forevermore.

I have become such a fangirl of Sundara , I'm kinda making myself sick rereading some of these posts. Could I plug her yarns even more? The answer to that would be yes. (Surfer's Wave ASM reshot) If I can't be a slavish fangirl in my own small crevice of cyberspace, then I ought to hang up my blogging shingle now. I'm back blogging with the sole purpose of being honest and open and true, to wax melodic or moronic, as my fancy strikes. So, yes, I love her colors, and her yarn bases. They inspire me to knit nicer things, to be a better photographer. My husband and sister's family chipped in to buy me a nice camera last Christmas and I still don't know half of what it can do. Everything I've coaxed out of that baby was with the intention of taking better pictures of yarn. I can't help musing that is pretty darn odd. Not that I didn't know I was odd. Still, to learn something new about oneself at my age is a blessing. I've entered what I h...

Not my best week, but not my worst either. I had a day off for Veteran's day on Wednesday and my mood didn't cooperate at all. The glory of a day off in the middle of the week escaped my grubby, chubby grasp, like a child digging for sand crabs. I woke up discombobulated. I promptly became irritated, always being best at making things worse. Ever since my seventh grade science and home room teacher, Mr. Longo, tried to teach us relaxation techniques in class, I have successfully failed at all types of meditation at least two handfuls of times. I just don't have a happy place and I just don't have the ability to keep the focus needed to relax my body. In the past year, after attempting and failing once again at finding that mythical happy "place," it dawned on me that I have a happy "thing." Sometimes on Saturday mornings, when I lay in bed luxuriating in the fact I don't have to get up and take a shower and vacuum and do all the other irrita...