After the stash dive
This is a new one. I paid attention to the tightly wound strand coming out of the ball and didn’t think to go read the label.
I wasn’t all that long into the project when I stopped and really looked at the yarn running between my hands–and grabbed that Magnolia ball band: this wasn’t fingering or even dk weight. This was worsted! I would have used bigger needles had I known. How I missed all that… I can’t even blame the fever. That was yesterday, I didn’t have it today.
So instead of something light and airy for summer I have a warm, densely knit cowl that is definitely using up all 200 yards. The grams scale says I have enough for one more repeat but I’m not entirely convinced. I think I’m going to try anyway.
All that said, the end-of-ball spinning weirdness ended early on in the cast-on and didn’t hurt anything.
Nighttime photo butchering the earthy greens and turquoise aside, this is Stitches yarn and Stitches yarns are always the prettiest ones. The person who gets this is going to love it, even if she has to wait for the right cool morning or evening for it; we get lots of those around here, even in the summer.
Knit nonstop in the round. Because a rolling moss gathers no sewns.
ABC
I.e, All But Castoff.
Which actually is done now.
I have a friend who’s into history and studies of other cultures and somehow it seemed more fun to knit her something with a hint of vicuna while anticipating telling her about the traditional chacu roundups of that animal, and the triumph of its comeback from near-extinction–a bit of a visual not to mention tactile aid.
Yarn: 98/2% 16 micron merino/vicuna, with the vicuna at about 12 microns. That 2% makes a noticeable difference over even the most super-fine wool.
I found one single light brown hair that had slipped into the spinning and showed up right at the cast off line.
I like that. A little bit of the animal it came from, untamed.
(Note to self: US7, 96 stitches to 128. Width 22 and 36, length 14 laying flat, 16 upright.)
Between a rock and a melted place
Tuesday May 29th 2018, 10:30 pm
Filed under:
Family,
Food
So USGS’s geologists were open to questions.
Leading to the BBC’s best-ever headline: Don’t Toast Marshmallows on Hawaii volcano, says US government.
On the other hand, if you want to go to London with 499 of your closest friends (at the minimum), then you can have basaltic rock melted into your own personal steak-charring lava. With, afterwards, (honeymoon story alert) marshmallows.
You dim sum you lose some you win some
We decided to go out to lunch. She picked out the (allergy-friendly) place. I hadn’t had dim sum in years–I was looking forward to this.
The food was very good, the place fairly formal and even in a long skirt I felt a tad underdressed. Quite a few of the patrons were on the older side, but not all.
There was a dad who picked up his adorable little girl of about 18 months a time or two and walked the aisle with her to keep her from becoming too restless.
There was another family in a corner in the other direction with a daughter of about nine and a boy of about two and I confess to wincing inwardly as he waved his chopstick with enthusiasm. His was blue. When he wanted to jump and down on his seat waving that baton his parents watched him carefully and finally put a stop to it.
Dim sum is not a fast meal, which was fine with us; we wanted time to catch up on things.
Back to the first family: the third time it was the mom that got up with her. By that point I had a bright-striped red/green/blue/white parrot at the ready. It had the most perfect face. (Chosen over the ones shown here.)
It was hard to tell which one of them was more delighted but it was clearly a great success.
It was a goodly while later and the other family’s dishes were still coming out but that little boy was quite done eating. I asked the maitre d’ as he was going by: was it okay to ask him to give these to those two kids over there?
The green and yellow lizard and the banana-eating monkey swooped and giggled in his hands, imagination going full tilt, his parents playing with him, his big sister putting down her phone game to watch him with a grin and their meal transformed. They turned towards our table and we said, Happy Birthday!
And then went back to our conversation so as to try not to intrude overly.
But here’s the thing. The staff were in the middle of lunch rush in a busy downtown location running full tilt on a holiday and were clearly stressed. But now there were smiles all around where there hadn’t been before. At all.
The first family headed out, the little one back in her daddy’s arms. They paused just before our table and she waved bye-bye and thank you so enthusiastically with her whole arm waving side to side as far as she could go that it wiggled her all over, the parrot held out at the ends of her fingertips to show us her new toy, the parents grateful for older couples who remember how cute toddlers are.
Been there!
We were done and headed out.
Almost at the door, seeing the sun outside, I realized I’d left my new hat behind and was suddenly acutely aware of the time I’d done that and in just a few steps away from a restaurant it had been grabbed and vanished and was never seen again–just as today’s maitre d’ came rushing towards us with this one to try to catch us in time, glad to be able to give back.
Why there’s only a four-word entry tonight
Sunday May 27th 2018, 10:46 pm
Filed under:
Family
Michelle’s home, Michelle’s home!
Another one
Maybe it’ll be dry by morning.
Feel like…letting my freak flag fly…
There’s this big and I mean big-brimmed black wool hat that I bought when I knew I was going to be spending some time outside at noon at high altitude, lupus or no lupus. One does not miss the graveside ceremony at one’s mother-in-law’s; it was good that as a piece of clothing for such an event it seemed the proper thing, never mind the lupus.
Richard was feeling a bit cabin feverish and wanted to run a quick errand this afternoon: which meant me driving. That was going to be it, but then we both thought out loud more or less in unison that Costco today would be a whole lot better than Costco on a holiday weekend. (I did not say, but the sun at this hour…)
Somehow that big hat was the one that was in the car (there’s always one), okay then, nice and big and protective, and the only parking space we found was way across the lot. Good thing it’s such a cool day, right? Well we’ll just be a tad formal then. I put it on and then threw it in the cart after we got inside.
After the wind had thrown it off me a time or two as we walked in. That brim sure made for quite the sail. It made me appreciate how still the air had been, how reverent, when we were saying goodbye to his mom.
There was one woman in the store who looked enough like a neighbor I hadn’t seen in awhile that I noticed her–but she showed no flicker of recognition, just stress and hurry, so, no, and we went quietly about our separate business.
One of the first things I did was buy a new SPF-rated sun hat, right there on display right as you walk in the door. That one would stay on, and it looks a heck of a lot more like summer.
Why I didn’t put that one on to head back to the car I couldn’t have told you; it would have made a lot more sense, but no, even while telling myself this made no sense I decided I didn’t want the tag flapping at me before I could get it off–so I put the black one on again. Bigger brim equals more sun protection, right?
That silly hat flew off several more times again in the brisk Bay-side wind and after avoiding being hit by a car retrieving it I kind of clamped it down on my head to try to go load up mine. I could at least still see looking downward.
Turns out that woman had parked next to us. Turns out we got done at about the same time.
Richard cannot bend much right now and I told him not to worry about the groceries.
Airborne!
I caught the woman’s attention. Excuse me? Do you mind if I reach under–my hat just blew under your car…
It what?! She did a double take, then laughed and told me not to worry about it, she’d get it for me, but by the time she looked it was out the other side and heading for the belly of the next car over, more paper airplane than wool. She got to it in time and gave it back to me, much amused. And quite delighted to be able to be of help.
She’d looked so stressed. She looked so happy now. Hat’s off to her for stepping up.
I threw it straight in the back seat. Even if it was a nuisance and needed to be retired, that hat carried memories. It was not allowed to escape.
The new one is ready for duty.
Lava pie
The surgeon said to him afterwards, x-ray in hand, Did you know you broke your back? Apparently some time ago. Compression fracture.
Him: I what??
Me: So are you still 6’8″?
Him: As far as I can tell. (I took that as, doorways are still too low.)
To my astonishment he had me drive him in to work today.
I wanted him to have something to come home to to really cheer him on, then: thus this offering towards the mythical Pele of Hawaii. Photos of the first fissure opening up and after all heat broke loose. (Note that that top crust ended up really thin after I dropped half of it on the floor, which was clean but not that clean so I massaged what remained into whatever it could manage.)
Multi-berry pie, and it seems to have helped a little.
Stanford Ambulatory
With yet more hours on my hands, I wondered if that enormous lighting display in the ceiling was a deliberately artistic echo of the ones in the operating room. Surely that must have been the thought.
Someone in scrubs was walking by facing the people beyond me, followed closely by the woman who’d checked my husband in at the far end of the hallway from here at the much-regretted hour of 6:50 a.m.
Who scolded me sharply: “He’s talking to you!”
Blink. (A silent, What? Hello?) I did not so much as see the side of his mouth move and he was in no way looking at me. Nor was he anybody I’d seen earlier. He was paying no attention whatever to me as far as I knew.
At that, the young surgeon rather awkwardly turned, maybe only just then realizing that I was the one who was the wife of his patient, and sat down to let me know (after I asked him several times to speak up–the waiting area was one great big noisy room) that things had gone well.
He had a rash of warts across his forehead that made him look like he was sweating profusely as he leaned forward.
I would be called back there in twenty minutes.
I picked up my phone forty-five minutes later, looked at the time, and shrugged. These things never go quickly.
I looked out the wrap-around windows at all the new construction. I saw that the place I’d done my brain rehab after my car was sandwiched in ’00 was, to my surprise, still standing, even though it’s only two stories high. Stanford likes to go big these days, but there it was, and prettied up, too.
I got halfway through another cashmere cowl and I have no idea who it’s for and really would rather have been making progress on the afghan for the little brother who’s been promising that Maddy will not have to be the baby of the family forever but was comforted at knowing that, whoever this bright little bit of soft scarfiness turns out to be for, I’ll be glad I did it.
I alternated between reading and knitting to keep my hands comfortable. I got sixty-five pages into a book on bird intelligence that I’d been quite looking forward to but that desperately, desperately needed a decent editor. Or at least for the writer to have sat down and read her own work cover to cover at the finish to find out for herself just how much she’d beaten the same, basic, boring, repeating points to death, page after page after page.
It matched the day.
At last an older man wearing a Stanford-red suit coat came from behind the desk to escort me and one other person to our spouses, chatting amiably along the way, quite making up for his co-worker. (He’d seen her.)
Coming into post-op, the first thing I saw was the hospital’s attempt at the usual requirement that the patient put on their non-skid no-falls socks. What you can’t quite see here is they’d even cut them in their efforts to make them somehow get over his big feet.
I decided not to joke about sock episiotomies. Yet.
It felt downright strange to be the one waiting for the valet to bring the car around so I could pick up the patient.
All went well, he is fine, and we are home.
The consensus is…
The Spartacus bulb opened up, and at 30″ high with a full display of leaves it is rocking this amaryllis thing.
The second cowl from the orange Piuma: done. (Note to self: 84 stitches, US 8 needles this time and it’s not small.)
Did anybody else get the annual Community Survey from the Census Bureau? Three million households randomly get chosen and this was our year.
After making sure I couldn’t get the info online, I called the city’s utilities department and said, I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of people asking the annual total of their water+sewer and their electric and gas usage for the Census–and they said, Nope! You’re the first one.
I wonder how many people the Bureau chose out of any one town? And how much any answer of mine tilted the results.
Who? Beads me
Well, that was a surprise.
I got a lovely note today and had no idea who this person was; I had to scroll down through the email chain, trying to figure it out.
Two years ago a friend had given me a big bag of craft supplies she wasn’t interested in anymore, nor was I, but I told her I could post it on Freecycle.org so that she could know it would go to someone who would be glad to have it. There were quite a few beads in there and someone could have the fun she’d hoped for when she’d bought it.
And so I did that.
I’d long since forgotten all about it.
The note was from the woman who had gotten that bag. She was no longer a medical student here but now in residency at the same school where my brother-in-law did his. Cool. But I remember the descriptions of what it was like to be in training as a young physician and the severe lack of personal time it entailed and I’m not surprised it took that long for her to really search that bag.
But yes, she had held onto those craft supplies while moving halfway across the country to her new place.
And only then did she discover that, by her description it sounds like I gifted her with a cowl along with a note that meant a great deal to her, whatever I said. She is studying the specialty of one of my favorite doctors, and if I didn’t then I did today, telling her what a difference he’d made to me and wishing her well in her life. She was very touched (and here I was, reiterating that message, I’m sure.)
I don’t remember doing that. But I know I would be doing exactly the same thing all over again if given the chance–with a plain-vanilla-wearable-by-anyone cowl at the ready, or any one that just felt right. Because one of my doctors–and because of Rachel Remen’s stories on the subject–taught me what a difference it can make to a physician to know that there really are patients out there who appreciate what you go through as you aspire to do right by humanity, the whole reason you went through all that you went through to get to the point where you could offer of yourself and your life like that.
That they’re not forgotten when the medical crisis is past.
I wonder if maybe, just maybe, two years ago wasn’t when she needed to hear that message: maybe today was. I have watched life dance to the choreography of G_d enough times…
Knitting is love made tangible. Even if I wasn’t ever her patient, I know well the life of a patient. And I know it’s not always easy to be a doctor.
I’d better get to it on the next cowl to have it ready to send out into the world.
There they are
Sunday May 20th 2018, 9:35 pm
Filed under:
Family
Reading a silly book together.
(Note to self: sending the pictures works better when you turn airplane mode off on the phone.)
Early start
We read silly books, we played, we cheered.
Or rather he did, at least during the games. Since I can’t be out in the sun our daughter took me to her favorite dessert place downtown, and after we got back, the big screen got set up to show me some of the boys’ best moves so I could see them in action, too and their daddy could brag on them.
A little later, I pointed out the pretty orange flowers in the tree to Maddy and how the petals were falling on their swingset.
She did a double take at my audacity and corrected me: “Those. Aren’t. Flowers.”
I laughed. For that I had to step outside a moment with her, sun or no sun. “Yes they are!” I held her up high so she could see a cluster from quite close.
Nothing doing. Trees don’t have them. “They’re not flowers. And–they’re BLUE!” and she ran off giggling.
The logic of a three-year-old.
She might figure out now how the jacaranda trees are all purple right now. (In San Diego. Ours haven’t quite yet.)
When the last flight home for the day was coming right up, I explained to her mid-romp that we were going home to our house now.
She looked up at me, stunned, her face begging, WHAT?! NO!!
We got caught up in saying goodbye to Hudson and Parker and hugs and then we were off in their aunt’s car for the airport.
I only later realized I’d forgotten this time to promise them that we would come back. The boys are old enough to take that for granted but their little sister needed that reassurance.
But we will. I promise.
The more the merrier
I swatched the seaweed with the ocean. Just didn’t love the color combination and knew what I wanted but Cottage had been out of it. Called Green Planet: they had lots, I made the trek, and now I have something I like very much. And a better octopus color, too.
But I also needed a carry-around project this morning. I simply grabbed the yarn closest to me and started, and so another peach cashmere cowl is several inches in. Gotta use up those leftovers, right?
That blanket was what I’d needed to seriously rekindle all things knitting.
Begin: the rest is easy
My first success at trying to photograph it.
The new Cooper’s hawk hasn’t yet been harassed by the ravens–and so, for apparently the third time this week, he took his dove dinner to the middle of the yard, out in the open. (Pardon the broomstick.)
Just like Coopernicus did when he was young.
Meantime, I went off to Cottage Yarns to try to find me some seaweed colors, and I did find some dark green but I’m not quite convinced it won’t turn into cowls instead. It’s hard to match the brightness of that Cian colorway.
Here’s what I’ve got so far: I cast on the entire width of the afghan, figuring I would put most of the stitches on hold and work one strip upwards at a time. Right now though I’m not so sure I won’t just simply do it all of a piece.
It took till today to figure out what bugged me about the original pattern: it’s four squares wide. The eye is unsettled at low even numbers–it wants odd ones. It’s got to be five. My swatch said I needed five anyway.
I’ve got ten stitches for each side, eleven rows, and I’m calling that bottom border done.
I want a reclining octopus taking up enough of one side to help divide the interior into the visual thirds that it should be. The seaweed needs to extend well into a second row’s worth to help with its third.
I got me some finagling to do.