*spaz!*spaz!*spaz!*

Okay; it's peel-me-off-the-ceiling time. I'm jetlagged and buzzing on caffeine and all sorts. Not quite sure what to do with myself at the moment, other than take a page out of my 3-y-o second cousin Freddie's book and race around the room, climbing the walls, before collapsing in a limp heap.

Just got in from the airport after a roller-coaster of a week on home soil. Joy. Pathos. Rock and roll. I lost my cousin Daniel, but he gave me back my cousin Jason, whom I haven't seen in 30 years. I never thought I'd next be returning to England for a funeral - let alone for the funeral of my creative, cheeky, observant, gentle, playful cousin Dan, who died way, way too young (I shake my fist at the heavens and feel a prickle behind my nose) - but I also never thought I'd have such an incredible experience of reconnecting with all my cousins, aunts, uncles and extended family...and particularly the stellar Arctic Fox, who opened his home to me and turned out to not only be a wonderful host, but a kindred spirit.

When I'm feeling more grounded I may touch upon the experience of saying goodbye to Dan, but for now, I just want to roar with delight and gratitude for the opportunities and adventures I've had over the last week: laughing and tale-telling with Jo, Tom, Sam and Jase, meeting Tom's Natalie, Jo's Ian and their small person Oskar (a new second cousin!), spending a too-short time with Sam's Rob and meeting their small people Freddie and Milo (two more new second cousins!) and meeting Jason's Dawn, who's just lovely: her face -- no, she lights up when she smiles; having a too-brief time with Aunty Janet and Uncle David; visiting with Jen & Fred and sitting under Missy, Dibble, Grub and Cuthbert (sometimes all at once), whose cat-hairs have now travelled farther than they themselves ever will; visiting the Mother Ship (aka Rowan Yarns' head offices) thanks to Jen's kind arrangements; curry-eating with Jason and Dawn; robin-blue tit-dunnock-finch-blackbird-rat-watching from Jason's kitchen window; talking for hours about life and perspective, playing Guitar Hero and making late-night shop runs for teabags with Jason; almost-winning at the bingo/quiz night at Sam's lawn bowling club with Sam and Jen; treading the streets of Leeds once again (also with Jason); listening to various weirdnesses on Radio 4; experiencing virtually the entire first season of League of Gentlemen in one sitting (are you LOCAL?); collecting newly-laid hen's eggs for the first time; discovering Andy Goldsworthy and Frank Sidebottom ('it's a free download/costin' absolutely nothing...'); and countless more things besides.

More tea, Mrs. Nesbiiiit?
Jiggety jig.

Daniel Edward Pitchforth, age 33

My cousin died today. He was only 33, and he hasn't been well for quite a few years, but I had no idea he was so ill. I found out only minutes ago, and the shock is setting in. This is devastating. But it's no way to introduce him to you.

Dan was one of the kindest, loveliest people I've ever known. Out of all the cousins, we were the closest in age, and used to write to one another about life, music, and whatever else was going on. He introduced me to the Stone Roses and the Inspiral Carpets. I last saw him in 1997, and we slid all the way down the hill beneath the giant chalk horse on the hillside at Uffington. Sounds basic, but the hill was a ridiculous incline, and it takes a couple of minutes to slide down after spending half an hour or so climbing up to the horse. We had to boil-wash our jeans to get the grass stains out. When we were 3 and 4, we went to the park near grandma's house in Huddersfield. There were men working on the road, and Daniel put his finger in the hot tar they'd laid down, which of course made him cry. I remember looking at the tar on his finger. The tar had a particular smell that was somehow different from the usual tar-smell; I only ever smell that exact scent every once in a while, and I always think of Dan.

I was thinking of him today, actually, and imagining how great it would be to see him and all the rest of my cousins and family, little realising the sadness unfolding thousands of miles away.

Sorry I missed you, Dan. Love and ham sandwiches, as always. x

awright, awright, awright - here's a post

Sorry folks - been Guildwars'ing and have also been feeling reclusive. I go through phases where I just don't seem to have the energy or inclination to keep up with this stuff. So people are looking for peculiarities, hmmm? Here are a bunch. I'm doubling the number, since most of the folks I know have already been tagged.

1. My name is at the top of the CN Tower. When they were finishing it in the early '70s, there was an opportunity to write your children's names on a thingy that was going into the spire, and my mum put my name on it.

2. I have a virtual yarn stash. In Oblivion, one of the 'useless' items you can find in chests and boxes is yarn. I've been collecting it and stowing it in the various houses I own.

3. I had a fear (well, more a dislike, really) of toes for a very long time. I got over it when I worked in Cuba for a month in 1999. I figured that no one there knew that I'd not exposed my toes for years, so the hang-up was all in my head - though the 2 people that knew me through university did comment on it.

4. When I was 10, I wore trousers all summer.

5. Between the ages of 8 and 14, I never wore a skirt or dress, except for my Brownie/Guide uniforms.

6. I'm 34 and still don't have a driver's license -- and I work for the Ministry of Transportation.

7. I can lift my left leg up to the height of my head and hold my foot next to my right ear.

8. I'm actually very shy, but overcompensate by being humourous, silly and chatty in person - which necessitates long periods of downtime.

9. My first word as an infant was 'vegetable'.

10. Generally speaking, I can't handle watching television or movies at home. I get overstimulated and run away. Consequently, I've never seen an episode of just about any reality t.v. show. My one vice is Coronation Street.

11. I am a student of druidry.

12. I have been contemplating getting a tattoo for nearly half my life, but haven't yet fastened on anything.

13. I've always been an excellent student/writer, but for the past few years have been crippled by a fear of essay-writing to the point that I can't even start one.

How's that? Peculiar enough fo' yiz'?

In other news, again have lots of photos and WIPs to post. Well -- need to take more pix of the WIPs. Bad SoSo! Bad SoSo! Started Laura's CCCC cardigan in a magical blue by Misti Alpaca and it's going well. Am making a hat for me'sel' (out of CASHMERE!), as my Amelia helmet has gone walkabout. Am procrastinating on t's Boom Bag. Am also absolutely horrified by my Visa bill. I haven't been using it much and have been making payments on my card, but when your phone/internet bills are charged to it and you're not paying attention, it can really add up. No spinning wheel for me any time soon. Time to start actually knitting what I have, methinks. :)

Cello: August 1986 - December 4 2006

I am now officially two cats old. Dad just called with the sad news that Cello (as in the instrument), my 20-year-old cat, died at 3:30-something this morning. Poor girl. She had an amazing, long life, and despite deafness and thyroid problems towards the end, she was in relatively good, if frail, health. She snuck outside a few days ago when dad went out for a couple of hours, and she got stuck outside in the cold. We suspect that this hastened her end.

I'm so glad I visited my folks on Saturday and had a chance to see her - I didn't outwardly know it, but on some level I think I realised it was goodbye. It all makes sense now.

Sleep well, Snit. I'll miss you.

Insert photos here

I'm in something of a hibernatory phase at the moment. Curled up, nose to tail, disinclined to put in any more effort than what's required to breathe as I doze.

I have pictures of many things to post - and also many things without pictures - but even uploading photos feels like a bit of a task -- that said, it's always felt that way. As has posting. Ah, fickle self. :)

So, I give you images in words. Don't worry - I'll use far less than a thousand for each one.

I have images of the finished greengold and rose text-messaging mittens, featuring a big thumbs-up from me.

I have a still-almost-finished sock #1 in the lovely Interlacements yarn that Abigail sent me. That stuff invites comments from complete strangers on the subway. It's like dappled light and shadow on some distant planet where things are far more colourful and strange than here.

I've decided a t-shirt is in order that says: 'Eunny Jang is a sadist.' I have the beginnings of a Bayerische in a delicious, warm lavender-violet that only gets more complex the closer you get to it. It's coming along relatively well, and I am indeed enjoying it, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around how a) working with a 7-stitch cable can be done without a cable needle, and b) how it would be possible to achieve 'crisp stitches' sans said cable needle. Heck - my stitches on this sock are anything but crisp. Fuzzy Bayerische, here I come.

We saw angora goats. Mum and I went on the Downtown Knit Collective's first bus trip and visited Wellington Fibres. Many goaty pictures. Those beasties are in constant motion - so twitchy. Even when they're standing still and looking at you, their eyebrows are going every which way. The sires were the only ones that seemed capable of achieving complete stillness - they were variously described by fellow bus trippers as looking like 'an old man' and 'a 97-y-o woman'. Hee. Yay goats! Mum sketched to her heart's content and came away with a few neat images. Rumour has it that the next bus trip, some time next year, will be to Koigu. Glee!

Jacquie had a funtime thankswarming party at her new digs last Friday, which was a little overwhelming to start, given the serious influx of Urban Exploration folks (none of whom I knew), but then some knitters showed up. Too tired to link to everyone at the moment (waking up at 5:30 a.m. for no particular reason'll do that to you), but familiar faces included Rocketbride, the Needle Addict, Kiwi Ceri, Heather, Avalee and the MadHatress. Fun! So glad I went. Wish I could've stayed longer, but had to hightail it because...

Sandi's husband Jay's new band, Easy Way Out, was performing -- and it was fantastic. Not only was the music great, but adding to the delight was seeing how much fun Jay was having on stage. I hadn't heard him sing rock before, and, well, he sounded kinda like Chris Cornell. That, and they were accompanied by rapper George Reefah, which just made it double-good. I had a serious urge to rush home afterwards and listen to Body Count -- not from the perspective of the violent lyrics and all that, but ohhhh, the sound of it. Took me back and made everything right with the world. The only downer was the disappearance of Sandi's purse, and with it, her dear Goldie. People are sucky sometimes.

On a happier note, one of the falcons decided to hang out on our balcony railing for a while last Sunday morning.

Right. Off to work, since there ain't much else to do at 7 a.m. other than rub my sandy eyes. I'll try to post piccies soon.

more than an owl

Today is a good day. It's cold and vaguely rainy and grey, but it feels peaceful and clean. A day to stay indoors and do housey stuff, bundled in flannel pyjamas and a sweatshirt. The kind of day that my father is prompted to gaze out the window and say: "Oh England, my England." He came here as a young man in 1967, and there's a type of day - like today - with this particular wettish, damp, cool quality that reminds him of his homeland. He's a bona fide tortured artist, and is imbued with the dual qualities of romanticism and anger. He was a stern parent, but also capable of being very silly.

Remember a while back I found an owl pellet on my balcony? It gets better. This morning I had tea and a clove on the balcony, revelling in the wind and the pewtery autumnal light, watching the pigeons and a couple of gulls riding the wind - but wait...those birds are...reddish-brown, not gull-grey, and they're biggerandtheirwingshavehugepinfeathersandcurveupatthetipslikefighterplanes...and now they're curving closer and right past my balcony about 15 feet away and they have hooked, predatory beaks like military commanders' noses and they're huge! Falcons. A pair of falcons. Today is a good day.

I'm also thinking of my grandfathers today.

Albert Augustine Patrick McKenna (Bertie), born in 1888, ran away at the age of 14 to join the army and lied about his age, served in the cavalry in India, was a merchant seaman, and served his country at sea in both WWI and WWII.

Francis Edward Carey Peaker (Ned), served his country at sea in WWII, and on November 1st, 1941, received a telegram on the ship informing him that my mother had been born. Pulled the gun carriage carrying the casket at King George's funeral. Owned the village shop and post office in Huddersfield, W. Yorks. "We're out of bread; you'll have to have toast."

I never had the chance to meet either of them. They both survived the wars, but died before I was born. Thanks to both of them and to all the men who served and made it possible for dad to reminisce and for me to see falcons on Remembrance Day.

Cats and Mittens

Thanks all for your kind words and offers of help - I really do appreciate it. I wish there was a way to respond directly to comments. In response to various questions from folks, I do spin, but to this point just on a drop spindle. I've taken a wheel class with Laura, and I desire her wheel - a gorgeous Lendrum double-treadle. I'm saving my shekels. Robin was very sweet and offered me a book, which was a lovely thing to do. I study psychotherapy and have been seeing a therapist for over 5 years, so I'm pretty much booked out on the subject of depression, but I think it's so nice that you offered. Thank you. :)

I've upped my antidepressants on the advice of my doctor and have a referral to a psychiatrist (!) so here's hoping that in the short term I'll be able to muddle through.

I've not been idle while off work for the last couple of days. Here is a mitten, knitted at the request of t's niece Laura. It isn't just an ordinary mitten, though - it's a text messaging mitten from Knitgrrl, with flip-up thumbs. Mitten #2 is on the needles, but I've been holding off so Jacquie and Sandi can see stranded knitting in action.

I've also been kicking some butt with Niamh Spins White, my latest GuildWars character. Nothing takes care of angst like handing skree's arses back to them on a plate (we won't talk about the many times mine has been handed to me in this way).

NSW is named for my beloved NuNu, who as you can see, is white, in addition to being named Niamh. I haven't seen NuNi in over a year and a half, and I think about her all the time. Here she is with Freya, a.k.a. Kitten.

On Depression - and a picture of a sock

There was a little gnome

And she had a little home

Right in the middle of my forehead.

And when she was good

She was very, very good

And when she was bad, she was horrid fucking awful.

Here's my Interlacements sock (aka The Sock of Infinite Pleasure) so far. It's accompanied by my helper, the Hocus-Pocus Bag.

The rest of this post is more serious and introspective in tone, so if you're not up for that, just distract yourself by looking at the sock.

I've suffered from depression for a long time, but I wasn't formally diagnosed until about a year ago, when my biochemistry marshalled its forces and took over my life. Things got better for a while, but it's reasserted itself, and I'm trying to figure out what to do next.

Some days, I'm fine - some moments, I'm fine. And then something happens to me. It's in part biochemical, but it's often triggered by events - work most often, sometimes family - and I transform into this bloody, suppurating, suffering mass of raw nerve endings, incapable of rational response to what should be normal stresses. Most people, given a healthy enough sense of themselves and their place in the world, would be able to process it, cope, and move on. I am plunged into black despair, unable to see any value or redemption in any part of myself. I take it all in and get lost in it.

In this place, everything bad is true. I am incapable, incompetent, hopeless, irredeemable. I am a deep void of child-fear, rage and paranoia. I project my own worst self-impressions onto my co-workers and am convinced that this is how they see me. I am a failure, and I castigate myself for it. You know the bullies that were horrible to you at school? They got nothin' on the one in my head.

Even outside of these episodes, I'm often paranoid and suspicious, certain that I'm under judgement all the time. I no longer know what is me and what is not-me. This doesn't happen with my friends so much - anywhere that official evaluation has no sway, I'm fine and relatively comfortable. Thank heckins.

I find it interesting, though, to attempt to look at this from the perspective of my observer-self; to muddle through an articulation of what happens in my head when logic and perception go awry. I hope that ultimately, I'll come to understand it better.

I can sound together as I write this, but here's how it looks from the belly of the beast. This was written last week in a few minutes over lunch:

foul demon, corrupted gargoyle, twisted and deformed - I would cast you out but you are my creation, so deeply chained that the links remain unbroken and I cannot find the source.

I am Pompeii, the ashes of Vesuvius so thick and heavy in the air, my silver shadow besmirched and blackened, buried under impenetrable layers of my own devising. My grief is red as blood.

Persephone, how I envy you. What I wouldn't give for even one glowing pomegranate seed here in the dark. At least you could move, and the sun was a certainty.

The soil is frozen hard; no seed of mine will sprout on the plains of desolation.

And so I spin myself a green cocoon here in the black, hunker down under the poisoned ash and the weight of lifetimes and await a sign - any sign - of spring.

Maybe depression needs to be re-marketed as a development opportunity for bad free-form verse. Quality of the writing aside, I think it conveys that this is a very bad place to be. When I'm in it, it seems interminable - there's no hope and no end, and even if it does pass, there's the certain knowledge that I will be engulfed by it again and again. No amount of preparation makes that any easier.

Wow, huh? I try to take the days as they come, and in my more rational moments try to remember all of the people and things for which I'm thankful. I'll spend at least part of this afternoon in a coffee shop, knitting and reading. I'm really looking forward to it - it'll help me recharge and perhaps feel more like myself.

Me buy yarn on the TTC Knitalong? That's as likely as Elvis being alive.

Ummm...
Elvis wows the crowd with his killer combo of a knitted pompadour and curled upper lip.

Elvis, being Elvis, just had to try on my Clapotis.
And where else would the King re-materialise but Alterknit, Toronto's newest yarn store?
Elvis tries to find out how sensitive Jen's girlhole really is.
Nadia models her gorgeous handknitted coat.
Next stop, Princess Haley's Knitomatic (note Pluto, The Loudest Lovebird in the Universe, on her shoulder. He kinda blends in with the yarn).


Dread Pirate Vivienne, flush with victory after pillaging Knitomatic. And as the saying goes: Where there's pirates, there's zombies. Not even death could keep Erin from the Knitalong. Tom's sister Sandy and niece Laura, an accomplished knitter in her own right, pose with Al Paca. Sandy was running a fever, so it's amazing that they were able to join us, even for a little while.

One of the many faces of Lilly, at this moment reflecting her concern that there are loads of people waiting for the Bathurst streetcar -- but no streetcar.
Susan, filled with evil glee after frightening an innocent bystander into deserting the back of the Spadina streetcar.
Jen, still harshing the clown. (Jen is knitting the scarf on her shoulder for a friend. She doesn't like the colourway, and declared that it looked like dead clown. Michelle (avec camera) remarked that it was more like pureéd clown. After slagging off the colours for most of the morning, Jen decided that she'd been "harshing the clown" too much. Michelle now has a new favourite saying.)
Stop harshing the clown! Be drinkable!

Jacquie (a.k.a. The Devil Wears Clappy), overcome whilst trying to hold my yarn. She was unable to actually look at it all because she ran out of hands.

Here it is - that better? I'm highly pleased, yet also mortified at the size of the haul.
Maybe I can take some lessons from Elvis on places to hide it.


And that's the short version.
Thanks to the folks at Alterknit, Knitomatic and Lettuce Knit for making Team North's day so fantastic! You guys are the best yarn stores a girl could ever want to visit.

yarn...hangover...yarnover

My camera batteries are recharging, so no pix. Lots to pic about, though. Soon, my pretties, soon.

Mon clapotis est fini. Done, done, done. 8.5 balls of Lang Mille Colori. It looks great, but now I don't know what to do with it. I feel like a cat that's finally caught the mouse she's been stalking. It's very long (VERY long), but I think it's too narrow to be useful as a wrap, and too wide to be used as a scarf. I actually didn't wear it today 'cos I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to don it in such a way that it would stay on as I carelessly cast myself about the bus en route to work. Must re-dig-out the beautiful shawl stick Laura gave me to see if that'll do the trick. And you know - I like it inside out. I didn't think I would, but it sits better on the shoulders that way, and the colours blur together in a pleasing fashion.

In other news, I admit it: I. am. out. of. control. Last week or so, I was at Lettuce Knit and finally succumbed to the Posh sock yarn. Cashmere/merino yumminess - 2 skeins: paisley and cosmopolitan. And how charmed am I that 2 of their solids are called 'boiled egg' and 'pillar box' - they look exactly as you expect them to. I won't even get into flibbertigibbet.

And then on Sunday, all hell broke loose. I returned to Lettuce to drop off some yarn for "I'm working in a yaaaaaaarrrrrrnnnnn stooorrrrrreeeee" Jen (I'm her Kureyon pusher), and to what should my wondering eyes (perhaps in my case it should be 'wandering eyes') should appear, but a whole new Lorna's Laces shipment. That would have been bad enough on its own, but it became a deadly, heady cocktail with the addition of Michelle, who makes my enabler tendencies look positively gentle. Let's sum up the damage, shall we?

Two skeins each of the following:

Purple Iris

Daffodil

Mother Lode

Vera (which makes me think of Nabokov's wife)

Seaside

Flames (I am infinitely suggestible. When Michelle dug into the stack to find some, I needed some too. I'm now envisioning using some plain charcoal yarn to create socks with flames licking up from the toes and peeking out of my mary janes, with more flames climbing up from the heel to ring my leg. Or some such.)

If you were doing the math, you'll realise that, not counting the stuff that was in my hands and I forced myself to put back (black watch, black purl, heck knows what else), that's 12 skeins of sock yarn. In addition to all the sock yarn I already have which in no way constitutes evidence of any kind of addiction whatsoever. And next week is the knitalong.

*falls of her chair and twitches amidst dragonhordes of yarn*

Lorena Snark is teetering on the edge of sneaker envy...

...and I propose to tip her over the edge to meltdown.

breasts.

I've been thinking a lot about breasts lately, for reasons both personal and wider-worldly.

Beryl Tsang - titbit creatrix, TTC Knitalong maven, Womanly Force to be Reckoned With™ and all-round mad creative genius - spoke at the Downtown Knit Collective meeting tonight about her experience with cancer and the birth of the titbit, a gorgeous, ingenious, and – dare I say it – sensual solution to what must be an overwhelming, devastating challenge: how does one feel and look good when half of one's bouncy, crazy set of taken-for-granted mammaries has been removed as a means of saving your life?

In preparation for Beryl's visit, we were encouraged to knit titbits to donate to the Canadian Cancer Society, so over the last few days, I knitted a cottony-soft, silky, lavender titbit (C-cup) whilst listening to countless episodes of Cast On and KnitCast. I thought about the eventual recipient. Dunno who she is, but I'm thinking about her and hoping she wears it in good health, and that the softness and colour gives her at least a little bit of pleasure.

It felt oddly appropriate, somehow, that I was thinking about my own breasts over the same few days. For months now, I've been meaning to pick up some new bras. The ones I own are pretty stretched out, and, as it turns out, too small – as in, WAY too small. Here I was, stupidly thinking it was their age that was causing the straps to regularly slip off my shoulders in the most exasperating fashion, when I suddenly twigged the other week that it was because my breasts were uncontainable, and their weight was pulling the straps down.

I must digress for a moment to explain to those that have never seen me in person that I'm 5'10", have weighed between 160 and 170 pounds for about the last 10 years, and have been a size 12 with 38C breasts for…hmmm…almost 20 years. In the last year or so, due to a combination of medication and eating junk with abandon, I've gained a fair bit of weight: I recently bought size 13 and 14 trousers for the first time in my whole life, and discovered over the Thanksgiving weekend that I now weigh 181 lbs. I have a pretty delicate bone structure, so my height is the only reason I don't look the size I actually am – well, to other people, anyway. I am a paragon of unfitness. So it really shouldn't be surprising to me that one of the first places I gain weight (and obviously one of the last places I notice has gained weight) is my breasts.

Knitting this titbit and thinking about breasts finally spurred me to do something to support and care for my own. Well, that, and the fact that yesterday not only was my bra giving me grief, but my tried-and-true, favourite grey tights no longer fit either. I had a sitcom-esque trip to and from work, with said tights sliding right off over my arse (attempting almost successfully to take my knickers along for the ride) and settling, gangsta-style, with the crotch just above my knees. Ever tried walking with your legs held together by the equivalent of a large elastic band? I really need to start taking better care of myself.

I've been putting it off, and putting it off, but finally – finally! – last night I ducked into a local chain store just before closing and tried on what I thought should be my new size – and by new size, I actually mean the size I should have been wearing for probably the last half-year, at least. I was dead wrong.

I got home, and threw my existing bras (and the cursed, beloved and lamented grey tights) in the garbage. I'll need all the room I can get to store these new 40DDs.

Thanks Abigail!

Abigail sent me the loveliest parcel as part of the Knitters' Tea Swap. Check out this sock yarn! You all know I need more sock yarn. I posted more texty details on the tea swap blog, but here's the whole shebang:

graced by a ghostwing

One morning last week, I noticed a strange, organic-looking oblong at the very corner of the balcony, and I thought, hmmmm...

Last night at about 11:30 or so, Tom and I were chatting on said balcony when I did my usual distracted-kid interruption routine, which I think was forgiven under the circumstances.

In the dimness, about 10 storeys below us, A Shape drifted past. t thought it was a pigeon at first. But it wasn't drifting, exactly, more...ghostly-gliding. This was an active movement, full of gorgeousness and menace. It was pewtery-grey in the streetlights. The glide continued, sans wingbeats, for much, much longer than a pigeon could manage.

Ladies and gentleman, our neighbourhood is home to an owl.

We're in - plus various bumpf

Hoorah! We're in, and starting to be unpacked, she said, even though every single box of books (i.e. a double-sized closetful) is still snugly, smugly lurking in the den, a.k.a. my knitting room.

Here are a few images. The kitchen, where Thanksgiving veggie prep is in full swing:
A corner of our living room:
Tom's niche, which in normal apartments would be known as the dining room (note the fabulous CD cabinet on the right - a fantastic, cheap as-is Ikea find):Tom enjoying the apartment (does this guy have great legs, or what?):

I'll post more as things come together. t's still sleeping, so no bedroom pix, and there's a giant futon mattress (burrito?) in residence on the den floor.

In other news, my Knitter's Tea Swap package is in the mail! I can't wait for Ms. Marie to receive it. This is most of the contents. In my enthusiasm, I added a Delerium CD and some Regia Canadian Colours sock yarn in the Ontario colourway.
I've been on vacation all week, but feeling wicked-exhausted, and didn't get nearly as much done as I'd hoped. I couldn't figure it out. I was waking up hideously early, and then in the afternoon couldn't keep my eyes open. I was NAPPING, for heck's sake! When on earth have I ever napped? They leave me feeling groggy and horrible. But I had no choice. Finally, finally I figured it out. Yesterday. At the end of my vacation. I've been taking my medication in the middle of the day, and for the first time ever, the drowsiness side effect has kicked in. Augh! And grrrrr.

In other news, the Clapotis is coming along. I'm on the last repeat before the decreases, but I think I'm going to go longer. We looked up 'clapotis' last night because t's father just had to know what it meant, and it appears to mean 'lapping' - I'm assuming as in 'waves'. Which would make sense, but t's dad isn't buying it.And I spun on a spinning wheel! Wow - I like it so much better than drop-spindling. As per usual, the Divine Laura shared her knowledge and got us treadling away in no time. I started on the most temperamental of the 3 wheels - an Ashford - and felt frustrated. I couldn't get my yarn started, and then ended up with crazy yarn, which I think is pretty normal for the first time out. But then - oh then! - I got to try Laura's wheel - a portable, double-treadled Lendrum - and I'm in love. The yarn spun itself. Sadly, it was near the end of the class, so I only spun a short single, but the difference in the feel and the smoothness of the process was transformative.

Hey everyone -- it's my cousin Jason!

We're in. Not settled, but in. Boxy chaos and a new bed coming today from my cousin Jason's favourite place, Ikea.

And speaking of Jason -- hullo! He and I last saw one another when he was 8 and I was 4, so it's been 30 years. Hooray! (not for the long time, but for his reappearance) Check out his blog and give him a hard time on my behalf.

More on le move when I find le camera.

Moving

This weekend, all hell breaks loose for a few days, and I may be incommunicado as we attempt to re-set up internet. For now, here's a plan of the new apartment, with space allocations as proposed by t.

And more pix again!

...This time thanks to Melhalla, taker of photos and creatrix of t-shirts.

For those that are curious, it reads 'I came, I saw, I knitted' in Latin.


Sandi has unofficially titled this one 'A happy coupla knit sluts'. All I have to say to you, Ms. Sandi, is - oh wait. I left my shoe at home.


And speaking of Sandi, here she is making like a bird and offering Jay a snack.


I think this is my most favourite photo. After the distress with which I started the evening, this pretty much sums up how I was feeling by the end.


And in other news, the new issue of Spacing is out, featuring a photo of yours truly (scroll down), along with Jen, Vivienne and Erin. Join us for the next Knitalong!

Hooray! More birthday photos!

Madame Jentastic has posted a few photos from the swanky do. Thanks, Jen!

I can see! I can see!

Found the camera, dozing in a bag in the trunk of t's mum's car, where it had been forgotten post-cottage unload.

So I've added pix to my birthday post, but have added some here, too.

I must tell you of Ramsden. The very first time I set foot in Romni Wools last year, there was a little goth sheep hanging out with the other sheeptoys. He was gorgeous, and had his very own cable-and-bobble sweater. I didn't want to spend the $20 to take him home, but I always dreamt of doing so, and made a point of saying hello to him every time I visited. A couple of months ago, I wandered in -- and he was gone. I was so sorry, and immediately realised that I should have taken him home the moment we met. A few weeks later, mum produced him when we were 'down the pub' and said "I bought him as a birthday present, but I'm starting to enjoy him too much and am afraid that if I don't give him to you now I'll want to keep him." Hooray! She bought him right under my nose -- the first time she'd visited Romni. In this pic, he's wearing a special sari silk party hat, knitted especially for him. I figure he needed some fancy duds to celebrate.

Two weeks to the move, and it seems like now is a good time to think about packing, hmmm? At least I'm only going 10 floors up.

In other news, I've started yet another project studiously avoids mentioning all the socks and have launched into a Clapotis. It was tough finding something that seemed just right for le clapo de soho, but I ended up buying a whole bag of the new Lang Mille Colori in colourway 46. After a prolonged internet search, I think I may be the very first person in the universe to attempt a clapo with this yarn. It's even hard at the mo to find good pictures of the colourways (by the way, my suspicion is that yarn sellers are creating their own names for the colours). There are no pics out there that do them justice. But know what? The yarn's gorgeous. A bit loosely twisted, so it's rather fluffy and splits a bit, but this hasn't caused a problem. It's smooth and pretty darn soft, and fun to knit with. I took one shot with the flash, and even though it's blurry, I included the other one because it better represents what the eye sees - it's a little less stark and more painterly (and no, that's not my way of describing the blur ;) ). I'm excited about starting another ball that has yellow in it; this should add another interesting element to the mix. Hooray!

And in yet other news, have joined a tea/knitting swap (button at right). Looking forward to it. I must also knit these socks. And these. Arrr matey.