Life's a Stitch

Lost rings are nothing new in this house. I’ve thrown away my wedding rings a few times. It’s usually after eating messy food and then they are recovered safely having been carefully wrapped up in a napkin. One time after eating steamers, we found them in the bottom of the garbage, nestled inside a clam shell.

I know of a person who made an insurance claim on her lost rings. Fifteen years later they were recovered in the bottom of a jar of Vaseline. And I think I’ve told this one before – honest to God, I know the person. Her grandmother’s ring was found in the belly of a fish. The fisherman traced the owner through the engraving. She had lost it down the drain years before. And I know I’ve written about the diamond cocktail ring I found in the finger of a glove I was trying on at a store.

How about you, any good ring stories out there?

There IS knitting happening here and I’m going to show you a picture to prove it. Sort of. This is the mystery gift I’m working on, recognizable enough to you experienced knitters. Hint: it’s a "MM" kit with a protuberous embellishment. Shhh, don’t say anything, the intended recipient may be reading:

I imagine you are thinking what on earth could this post possibly be about? Well, I was reading Sandy’s post #114 embarrassing potty stories and remembered one of my own. It didn’t involve a toilet, but was embarrassing just the same. So here we go:

Once upon a time I dreaded job interviews. I enjoy conducting interviews, but put me on the other side and I was a sweaty, palpitating mess. Reading all the tips around disguising your discomfort I sprayed antiperspirant on my palms and in the absence of  dress shields (do you remember when dress shields were something you could buy in a store’s Foundations Department? That was a long time ago!). I placed Kotex mini-pads under my armpits.

The interview went well, I went home. Undressing, you probably guessed it, I could only find one mini-pad. My mind went into a tailspin imagining the interviewers finding the crumpled damp pad on the chair in which I sat.

The interview story has a good ending. The next day, getting into the car, I found the culprit on the floor. And yes, I did get the job, but it wasn’t a happily ever after situation. I was fired five months and 28 days later because I was pregnant (I didn’t know it at the time of the interview). But that’s another story from way back when. They couldn’t get away with that now. And if I had stayed there I wouldn’t have had the satisfying career I’ve had.

And regarding interviews, when I’m the interviewer I take the advice I learned in a course – assume the interviewee is terrified and try to make them feel as comfortable as if they were sitting in their own living room. Someone in that course told me their best interview experience ever – walking along the Vancouver seawall with her potential boss.

I bet there are a lot of interview stories out there. Care to share?

On the knitting front, the Ravelry web has ensnared me. I have never really liked knitted toys, but the R site introduced me to designer, Alan Dart, and now I own two of his books. My family of grown ups has each added their favourites to my queue.

I’ve noticed this trend amongst knitting bloggers, that when they are at a loss for words or lack knitting progress, they substitute a good picture. Not one who usually lacks for words, I’ve been saving this one for a while:

It’s one strange fast moving cloud, taken from our deck last April.

I do have a knitting project on the go, but it’s a surprise for someone who might be reading.

Despite his reluctance to do so, Mr. Bryant turned 18 today.

His friend’s mom made the cake.

She’s a nurse, hence its anatomical correctness.

Nobody adequately prepared me for parenthood.

Happy Birthday, little tomato.

In my early childhood years, late night TV horror films were produced in black and white. They allowed your brain to fill in the colour of blood. The two that influenced the nightmares of my life, watched prior to the age of six with a cousin, late at night when everyone else was sensibly asleep:

1. The Great Behemoth – a nessie type monster, living in the East River knocks over ferry boats. I grew up outside of NYC and this was a REAL possibility for me.

2. The Crawling Eye – a spiderlike creature, living in a cloud on the side of a mountain, devouring people travelling up said mountain in cable cars. It fostered in me a full fledged case of pediatric cable car phobia. Now, as an adult, I can’t look at random clouds clinging to the side of Grouse Mountain without thinking of the Crawling Eye. My kids even call them Crawling Eye clouds.

In my college years it was Looking for Mr.Goodbar that fueled my fears; horror in flickering full colour. Especially after another student, in a nearby dorm, was the victim of a stabbing death one night.

It’s many years later and I don’t appreciate horror films or any type of psycho-thriller. Give me a musical or quirky comedy any day. A recent favourite? Odd as it sounds it was Death at a Funeral. I was still LOL the next day. Pure political incorrectness.

I can’t in any way link this to knitting, but I can show you some stash enhancement bought at ebay store Simply Yarn. Two skeins of Blue Heron Rayon Metallic, priced lower than at most stores, with reasonable shipping. If you decide to get some, tell Jacquie that Li sent you.

Ah ha – here’s the missing link: It will provide me with plenty of movie watching knitting.

I’m not going to disguise this as anything other than plain old complaining.

Complaint #1: Why is it, that I can’t wear an article of brand new
clothing without staining it? Picture it: last night, new pair of
khaki’s, artichokes for dinner, margarine spillage. Followed by
applications of: Folex instant spot remover, Spot Shot instant stain
remover, soap and water, ammonia cleaner and dishwasher detergent. Spot
still there.

Complaint #2: What possessed me to buy such a bad CD? Usually
careful of my music purchases, I was so in love with Pink Martini’s
Hang On Little Tomato, that I impulsively purchased their other two
CD’s AND booked tickets to their live performance at the upcoming
Vancouver Jazz festival. You might like it, but if by chance your music tastes
are similar to mine, and according to my husband, not many other’s are,
steer clear of their most recent release: Hey Eugene.

I am comforted by the fact that the weekend’s shopping wasn’t all bad. I think this is the yummiest yarn I’ve ever purchased and I’ve bought a lot. So soft, cotton candy and white clouds on a blue sky, a pink Hanami to be.

A reminder – good CD:

Bad CD:

Really bad. You’d think I’d have gotten the hint by the picture of a drunken woman squatting on the  bathroom floor. That’s just what the CD sounds like.

We hang out with knitters, but besides the projects we see on blogs and Ravelry, how many do you actually see in the wild, up close and personal? Of all the thousands of Baby Surprise Jackets, have you ever seen one on a real baby, one of which you haven’t knitted?

I’ve been thinking about this. In the past five years, not counting ones in captivity at knit shops or craft fairs, I can count identifiable works in the wild on one hand. There was a Vintage Velvet scarf in Seattle, an Anne Norling Strawberry Hat in Denmark, and a Fakeisle hat in Bellingham. Where are the others hiding?

Or the opposite, have you had anyone stop you, out of the blue, and ask if that’s a Charlotte’s Web you are wearing? I don’t know why these things intrigue me. I guess I have a fear of hitting my local Sally Ann and finding dozens of Baby Surprises after spending days knitting one myself. Or maybe only knitters appreciate knitting.

Seeing as though there’s plenty of knitting content here, I’ll give some not so equal time to the woodworker in my house. He turned this spalted birch vase as a special gift for Blogless Marsha’s blogless spouse.

Personally, I don’t get wood turning. We have many beautiful pieces in our house, but they each require hours and hours and hours (you get the point) of standing on hard concrete in a dirty dusty environment, and at the very last minute it’s conceivable that you can hit a rough patch and blow it all to smithereens.

Once I heard a loud whump from his garage workshop, followed by an expletive, naturally. Out he came, shaking his head, lamenting the fact that yet another one had gotten away. Poof! Sawdust. A couple of weeks later he looked up. There was a good part of the body of a bowl impaled in the garage’s roughly insulated ceiling.

Way too risky for me. I guess it’s the woodturner’s version of a knitted gift from the heart.

I went to the endocrinologist last week. During the late 60’s I had radiation treatments on my neck for severe childhood eczema, a therapy now related to a high incidence of thyroid cancer. Those of us formerly "irradiated children" need to go for regular ultrasounds to keep track of things.

He opens the chart and shows me the latest scan result. Time for another biopsy, he explains. I explain that I had two of those nasty things recently and he insists I only had one.The conversation continues with great detail about the tumor structure, trying to reassure me that something that fast growing was probably a cyst, Something wasn’t right. I glance down at the chart and see the two syllable last name, beginning with a B, ending with an N. Then the first name, five letters in length. Wait a minute, that’s not me! Jeez Luis, give me a heart attack on top of a glowing thyroid. The strange thing was, I know the person to whom the chart belonged.

The bottom line is, I’m still OK, and back into my six month ultrasound schedule. The point of this post is that there are many irradiated people out there who don’t realize their risk of thyroid cancer.  Not to be confused with ultraviolet ray treatment, this form of x-ray radiation was given for symptoms of eczema, acne, and tonsillitis, to name a few. They didn’t know that the thyroid soaks up radioactivity like a sponge.

I’m feeling good, but little Grace is under the weather, having had an eyelid growth snipped. Poor girl:

I don’t have to tell you that I’ve had plenty of waiting room knitting activity. Here’s a closeup of Clapotis, 60% finished:

The boy babe of my brood of three saw me taking an internet quiz "What kind of flower are you?"

" Poison ivy," he quips.

He is confident in his ability to make me laugh. Good thing, another time, another family, that response might elicit a swift smack across his currently valuable kisser.

His father, however, has other ways to brighten my day. In contrast to my purple thumedness, his creativity and need for springtime brightness benefits us all:

The hens and chicks were my contribution, foolproof as the are.

OK, this morning I found myself saying I’m going to buy yarn for three more projects and then I’m going to stop." Right. I’ve heard that kind of thinking before. Many moons ago I used to work in a Methadone clinic.  Classic addictive behaviour. No disrespect to those suffering from chemical addiction, but the thinking patterns are remarkably similar. I also have a sneaky suspicion that there’s a dual diagnosis happening here. That would be the ebay addiction.

I don’t need more yarn, but then I hear my brain thinking "buy it now, you won’t be able to afford it when you retire." Self deception at its best. Retirement is many years away. I’m twisting facts to serve my addiction. The only thing that’s not consistent is that I don’t deny my problem. I proudly wear it around my neck. Tell me you’d be able to resist this list:

1. Pink malabrigo laceweight for a Hanami stole.

2. Oh, just one more skein of Rayon Metallic yarn (pictured here in the Curry colourway). Two is not enough. Michele in NY told me that someone on the subway offered to buy her beautiful RM Clapotis right off her neck. Too late, I just clicked on the commit to buy button.

3. Who can resist this? Watermelon yarn. Wouldn’t it make cute baby hats? Good thing it’s out of stock.

4. And I just found this sock loom. Brilliant! My fingers can’t take knitting in the round with little tiny toothpick-like needles. And if I buy it I’d be able to use up some of my sock yarn stash.

Someone help me. I found this site. Do you think I should join? Maybe if I grind up some fibre and mix it with Tang…