An hors-d’ouvre.  An amuse-bouche. Perhaps not so much for a main course, truth be told.

(Everything sounds more impressive if you throw French words at it, right?)

There’s a lace pattern I’d never knit because it just… hmm…  Some of those rows put together were, to my eye, like the time my daughter, working at a small makes-their-own shop one summer, handed me a sample of the locally famous Gilroy Festival-inspired garlic ice cream and said, Here: you have to try this at least once.

I did row 1. I did row 3.  None of any of the rest I did bore any relation whatsoever to what was printed on the page, and I had the delight of watching a whole new lace pattern coming to be.   Cool.  (Many rows were unfortunately harmed in this scientific lace testing, making sure it’s safe for the cone-sumed knitter, but I can assure you they were put out of my misery gently.)

It came out kind of the equivalent of Computer Chip ice cream at that Silicon Valley shop, chocolate oddball shapes in orange. Good–but it’s sure not basic vanilla to which you can add all kinds of toppings.  But ooh, does it go well with chocolate sauce.

It has enough character to stand alone. I’m scarfing it down.

I really should have taken a picture of that thing set at an angle just so; I saw a squirrel trying out the oven-parts see-saw, testing, testing, one two, flee?  Holding still unseen, I watched it scamper down and away–clearly that one had learned its lesson.

But each of the others had to try for themselves, rack-ing up the flea-coat flier miles.  Making quite a rack-et, too, I’m sure, if only I had better ears.  When I set the thing back up a little too steady, one black squirrel actually made a successful leap from it onto the birdfeeder, but promptly got thwarted by its cage cover closing down. (Which is what it’s supposed to do, but doesn’t always.)  Nuts!

Meantime, back at the needles, I knew–but ignored–the first rule of knitterdynamics: don’t wear an outfit that clashes on a thermonuclear scale with the project you’re trying to finish.  That shawl in bright orange/red/fuschia?  Against a dull teal? Not so much.  And I’d decided to do another lace repeat–and then, after last night’s blog post about short shawls, another, just to be very sure–so part of me has been wondering why this shawl isn’t finished yet.

Uh, the teal?  The extra length? Ya know? Or maybe the occasional diversion like these bird photos (the first is funny, the rest, simply stunning) via LynnM.

The lack of chocolate.  THAT’S it! Well. That, we can fix!

(Wrote the above, ate the chocolate, sat myself down, and got at long last to where part of the edging is now done.  Which is one way to declare emphatically to myself, No More Repeats!)

Tomorrow I’ll finish the edging while the squirrels flip themselves off.

Another row or another blog post? Another row or… Trying to squeeze in both, but I almost didn’t put down the needles.   Another lace pattern repeat or a cast off? Another repeat? Yes? Okay, then, can’t finish it tonight no matter how late I stay up.

This knitting thing. It’s addictive!

(Squirrel Wars thirty-twelve: a rack from an otherwise-recycled old oven leaning against a pot on the table outside got climbed on by a squirrel trying to get closer to the feeder.  Spectacular acrobatics, a solid 10 by the judges in the Squirrelympics, clatter and scamper and the others went, wow! I could never pull that off! Who’s your trainer, dude?)

A trip to Whole Foods for the Earth Balance pseudo-butter for Michelle’s baking, and a quick glance over the fresh breads.  She was reading ingredient labels and I went Oh! as I picked up a loaf in its paper bag and it was still warm from the oven–but: “sourdough starter” is not allergen specific enough. Some have milk in them.

So I went over to the baker standing nearby and asked.

And boy did we hit the jackpot. We found ourselves talking to a delightful man around her age who not only knew the products, he was clearly someone who loved what he did and did it well. Cakewrecks would only be able to use his offerings for their Sunday Sweets best-of-the-best pages.  And:  he was someone who was likewise allergic to milk. He showed us his favorite breads and told us which desserts in the display case were safe for her; they were all of the ‘how do you eat this when this is so gorgeous’ variety.

He went and proudly got us samples of his vegan brownies.  In return, I gave him this site addy and told him about how successful we had been at substituting coconut cream for the manufacturing cream in my tortes.

He said something about coconut milk, and I corrected, no, coconut cream. There was a moment of confusion on his part, and I said something…to which Michelle, later, as we got in the car, went, “Mom. I bought the coconut cream at Milk Pail, not here; they don’t carry it here. You kind of put him on the spot.”

I did? You did?

I bet his store will carry it now! (You know, maybe I could parlay this into an excuse for making another pair of tortes, and I wouldn’t even have to make a half-gallon of manufacturing cream’s worth.  Right?)

Oh, and, the ganache on the torte? The man knits. Crochets, mostly, but, the whole yarn thing. He’s into it.

Yeah, I kinda am too.

A quick p.s.  Round thirty-leven in Squirrel Wars: the tin foil wrinkled when I went to refill the feeder and  Michelle says don’t try to make a living at making funky hats.  But I definitely won this round.  Briefly contemplated buying a kiddie wading pool for the squirrels to high-dive into, complete with a safe way for them to climb back out. Squirrelympics!

I’m trying not to be impatient over the progress on this one. It should be half done by now. And yes, vivid oranges and reds make my sense of balance, hmm, let’s say fanciful, but I was going through bright-color deprivation and this was just the thing.

Okay, wait, what if I did it like this?! (Scribble, scribble, edit, frog.)  Or like this? (Repeat.) Okay, now I think I’ve finally got it.

C.o.u.n.t. .t.h.e. .s.t.i.t.c.h.e.s.

Purl one row.

C.o.u.n.t. .t.h.e.m. .a.g.a.i.n. .o.n. .t.h.e. .n.e.x.t. .r.o.w. (And give a sigh of relief that nothing interrupted me.  If the phone rings, don’t anthuri’um.)

Repeat as needed.  Because, both written and knitted, this one in this yarn has to be absolutely exactly right.

(Time to go wind that second hank of suri.)

Last January, Richard ran into our old friend C. at Stanford Hospital; she works there as a nurse. Her kids and ours grew up together, we’ve known each other for ages, and she greeted him joyfully.

And then she stopped suddenly and asked–Wait–does this mean Alison’s in here?

That shawl project I mentioned yesterday?

I bought the hand-dyed Cherry Tree Hill suri laceweight at the DBNY sale.  When it came, it was wiry in the hands and very thin and I knew it would never get knit by itself.

So I went looking for something to tame it and add weight to it.  I found two blue laceweights in my stash, one dyed by me, one dyed by Lisa Souza, that I knew would look stunning with it.

But I also had some 20/20/60 cashmere/silk/superfine merino in Verdoso from Colourmart that matched the fairly small bit of green in that suri. I’d already hanked, scoured, and balled it up, which you have to do with mill-oiled cones; it was in the color of life growing upwards in the spring anew.  It was so soft now and it was ready to go.

I liked the blue. I preferred the blue. I wanted to do the blue.

But the green said, simply, No. Me.

We argued with each other for a few days.

No, the green flat-out declared, I said me, and that, honey, is that.

Rargh.

And so I got started, and as I got the yoke worked on, I thought, you know, I think I’d still like that blue better–maybe I should just frog this so I could prove to that yarn that I do know better than it does, thankyouverymuch.

Green it was.  I tried to get as much done as possible before Stitches, and then, like I say, my hands had to rest for days after wheeling around there.

It was such a relief to be able to get back to work.  I put a fair amount of time into it yesterday and today, feeling like this needed to be ready–if for no other reason than that then I could dive into the fun new stuff.

And yet.  I’ve learned time and again that when something is that insistent, there’s always a good reason for it.

Maybe I shouldn’t blog the whole thing yet, just wait for the day I go to give it, while probably wearing a different one to offer to trade, because, you see, this insecure part of me always wants to whine, But what if she doesn’t *like* it?

And yet.

I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday and the nurse there exclaimed, Oooh, that’s *pretty*!

That helped more than she could know, and then, today, all the more.

The mail came this afternoon while I was knitting away.  A letter. It was from C.  She was throwing a party, bringing old friends together as she tries to do about once a year–and this time also hoping to raise money for breast cancer research.

For the sake of a young co-worker of hers. A single mom with breast cancer.

Who is a nurse at Stanford.

In a department I was in last January.

I had two nurses by that first name.  They saw me near death’s door. I am well now. For all their hard work and their caring, I am where I am now. I owe them all so much.

“Wear green!” said the invitation.

Oh, honey, and bring it, too.  I shall bring it, too. And I will tell that young mom that that green cashmere blend knew what it was doing.

And she will see me healthy.  I will take the colors of growth and new life with the first bluebell flowers of spring sprinkled here and there, and wrap them around her shoulders from all my heart.

Hey, KarenL, remember helping me tie this quilt in high school with the frame set up in your living room? Simon and Garfunkel playing in the background: Wednesday Morning 3 A.M., and I forget what the other album was.

Michelle’s comment about peacock tails got me reaching for peacock colors afterwards. I knew I was about to go off to Stitches, about to go buy gloriously gorgeous new yarns, but I just couldn’t have a day without a project!

Yeah, well.  I way overdid it with my hands on that chair Friday. (Thank you, Sam, so much for taking it over on Saturday!)  I simply had to wait, with all that lovely yarn staring at me, not that I wanted to confess that to the blog. Not Going To Happen Right Now. No Knitting Allowed. Heal.

Today was dark and stormy, the kind of day for curling up with a good yarn; I was doing better and gave it a go.

I’m actually glad now that I have something in my way that will take me a good dozen hours to finish up:  time to be creative in while keeping my mind open to what the first of the new wants to be when it grows up.  I knit so much and with so many yarns: they come, they go, it’s on to the next.  But, unlike some skeins, I don’t want to just play with these from Lisa, Dianne, and Melinda–I want them each to be in the perfect design from the get-go. They’re just too pretty not to be.

Knitting time. Thinking time. It’s all good.

(Oh, and yes, I found our certificate from when we tied the knot. Phew!)

I’ve stalled out.  Too many choices.  (Embiggen for full effect.)  Too much that wants to be knit all at once, right now! (This is Saturday’s Creatively Dyed haul, minus the duplicate skeins. In order: Waterfalls Hang laceweight, Steele sockweight in Tull, Spanish, and Jasmine, and Waterfalls laceweight Elegant.)

There’s only one thing to do: *Make a choice, set the rest aside and put it out of sight.  Knit the first project, bring out all the beautiful skeins, repeat from * as needed.

It’s a wonderful problem to have.  Even the Roomba got carried away by the yarnly possibilities and stalled out. (Hey, you, gimme back my bobbin, where’d you get that.)

That reminds me, the squirrels? This round went to me.

I’ve been staring at this blank page.  Where to start.

(Maybe if the yarn weren’t all in hanks. But it is. And I am too tired to wind it up into balls.)

But still.  All these glorious, glorious yarns and colors.  And a thank you to Dianne’s husband for running out to their truck for my Waterfalls Elegant hank from their stock.  Where to start.

I tell you, it’s going to be a very fun year.

I got to see Lisa and Rod, so dear to me for so many years, and Sheila.  Dianne.  The folks at Blue Moon.  Karen at Royale Hare, Melinda and Tess at Tess.  I got to meet the folks at Malabrigo: to my surprise, I found myself in a conversation in French at one point, but we all spoke yarn. And I got to see so many, many friends who were simply walking around trying to take it all in, too.

To Jasmin‘s brother Sam, who pushed me today, sparing my hands and arms for knitting, Michelle and I plan to get that manufacturing cream on Monday–you earned that chocolate torte! (Recipe in comments, actual cake forthcoming.) Thank you!

And I have now held an actual vicuna-blend hank of hand-dyed gorgeousness, 15% vicuna and still in the qiviut-ic stratosphere.  Which is a good thing. Pay those South American ranchers well.  Shear a wild vicuna, save a vicuna by making it worthless to poachers, save a species–well done, Peru!

And someday I will afford some and knit some.  (No, new skeins, that wasn’t a sheep shot.)

(Knitting needles as models have limitations. They’re always trying to make a point.)

“You know nobody’s going to see my shawl. They’re just going to look at that hat,” I told Michelle.

Truer words… I was planning on taking it off after I no longer needed it for warmth nor to keep my slightly damp hair away from my hearing aids. But on it stayed, because all day long I had people stopping me and wanting to comment about what was on my head and I do have this ego thing going on. Had I designed it? Where could they get the pattern? It was a doodle?!  One told me, “I’m a piano teacher!”  I laughed over the ignored Tara pattern and got told by one knitter, “There are a lot of shawls. There is only ONE piano hat!”

Well, no, actually, there are two. But I rather doubt the surgeon who got the other one minds.

Yarn: merino laceweight single ply in a base like Malabrigo’s, from Tess Designer Yarns; blackbewwie sock!merino, very soft and just the thing for shawls, sapphire baby alpaca laceweight, and Lake Superior silk from Lisa Souza. And no, that’s not all; Dianne at Creatively Dyed and I had a delightful time together.  Uh, yeah. She would confirm that.  Definitely.

I’m not sure why I find myself wanting to catch up on old yarns as Stitches approaches.  But I do.

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I bought a wholesaler’s closeout of natural-brown 90% cashmere 10% nylon cones at–are you knitters ready for this?–$15/lb, and I bought ten pounds of it, all they had.  And then they found a few more in their warehouse and I bought those too.  They were giving it to me at their cost to get rid of it.  It needed a strong washing, and not just for the mill oils.  It was single-ply and cobweb fine, impossibly fragile; I plied it on my wheel into all kinds of useful, stronger thicknesses, scouring after spinning, and I made so many things out of it for several years.  Afghans, yarn that my mom knitted up into the most glorious Aran sweater, you name it.

Till I was down to the very last few pounds.  The idea of actually running out of this resource after all those projects… The rest of it kind of got tucked away, waiting till I could bear to let it go.

At some point, though, I wound some off, 64 g here, 66 g there, and threw them in the dyepot, one into a little red, the second a bit of purple.

And then those hanks, too, simply sat there.  I certainly didn’t do any spinning last year with all the stitching they did on me.

I got some Handmaiden laceweight silk awhile ago. Hey. While I was working on the shawl in Cashmere Superior and Dianne’s laceweight, the fuzzy and the colorful, I wondered if this new silk would look good with those two, and it would definitely add strength…

So today I tried it.  Plied the cashmeres first, then the silk around the other two. The yarn is balanced; no twisting in the finished skein, it hangs straight. So my being so out of practice didn’t hurt it.

The silk glistens, the cashmere fuzzes around it.  160 yards, drying now, waiting.  There’s a whole lot more, potentially, where that came from.

Watch out, the kid’s pretty, wired right now.

If anybody here doesn’t already know, Stitches West is next weekend at the Santa Clara Convention Center.  If you have ever had any desire to hold a skein of yarn in your hands in your life, and you can in any way make it there, go!  Inhale the wool fumes! The colors, the creativity, the sheer size and enthusiasm of the crowd of fiber lovers.  Heady stuff.  (Not to mention parking is free; what have you got to lose?) Come check out that silky new yarn made out of sugarcane fibers! (I kid you not.)

It used to be held in Oakland but it completely outgrew the place, and the last year there, the organizers learned that they needed to go to online ticketing after there was a two and a half hour line just to pay the entrance fee to get in the door.  We are not few. I didn’t mind; I could sit in my wheelchair–necessary for long days out–and knit and chat.

There are classes, there’s the market, but what I love best of all is getting to see people I never get a chance to see at any other time. It’s all about the friendships, and they grow from year to year.

Speaking of which. I flashed that picture of Cashmere America fiber at the interwebs the other day, hoping the lady that ran that booth might google and see it and come say hi.  Then I googled her co-op and found that Cashmere America had gone out of business–no wonder I hadn’t seen her nor her booth the last few years. I miss her.  If she reads this over there in Texas, I hereby wave hi a little louder.  You are part of our community, and you are missed.

Julia rightfully warns of carbon monoxide poisoning. If you go here, you’ll see why I’m so glad she brought it up.  Yesterday, a little too personally aware of the subject, we had the sliding door open just enough for the cord to pass through and kept the generator as far from the house as we could manage.  We have definitely had a CO alarm since that day 24 years ago.  I’m glad for that warning to be out there for others before, rather than after; thank you, Julia, for that.

On a more fun subject. More stitches and more rows than last week’s shawl, another five-day project, I did it! A ball-anced life, definitely.

I got home from Purlescence and Michelle asked me, “So how was your cult night?”

I explained to her that they’d just gotten a long-delayed shipment in of some of my most-favorite yarns in my most-favorite colors. And I hadn’t bought a single skein. (I didn’t add, “yet.”)

She looked at me with big eyes, and asked, “How did you DO that?”

“Stitches is next week.”

She guffawed. Busted in advance.

No project!  I grabbed some by-inspiration’s-invitation yarn last night and cast on, and now I’m on the second ball of Royale Hare ‘s merino fingering weight in lavender; so I’m about 300 yards and 12-13 inches into the latest shawl in a new pattern.  I only put it down  to come write this because my hands demanded I take a longer break.  I’ve got knitting fever, bad.

I have no idea how Karen got a solid fiber, not a blend, to come out shimmery and heathery out of a single color as if it had some silk in it that might be slightly resisting the dye–but there isn’t any, just ordinary wool doing a pretty dance.  I do have to say, it grabs my eyes and my hands and sits me right down there right on that seat and declares, “KNIT!”

And so I do.

Maybe that deadline of Stitches next week to gleefully show it off to her is helping, too.