Thursday, November 1, 2012

Dinosaur Smell

Greetings Internet,

 It is been some time since my last post.  Let me fill you in on the details of the last several weeks.

 First, I’ve been experimenting with gravity.  As it turns out, heavy things tend, when unsupported, to fall toward the center of the Earth.  Now, I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking that light things too tend to fall toward the center of the Earth.  And you’re right.  But they do fall less spectacularly.  So, if for example you were to drop the left rear of a late 90s SUV off of a floor jack and have it hit the ground within inches of you – that would be pretty spectacular.  Yep.  Gravity is serious business.

On what I assure you is a completely unrelated note, I was out of knitting commission for a while.  It turns out that it is difficult to knit with a cast-type-thing on your hand.  Almost as difficult as it is to determine whether you’ve broken your scaphoid bone after multiple x-rays.  But not nearly so difficult as keeping yourself from sniffing the cast.   If I could ask The Echidna one thing, it would be why I find myself compelled to smell something even after I know it is noxious.  Whether it be the dog’s feet or a slab of Stilton, my nose is ready for duty.

Having divested myself of my foul-smelling accessory, I returned to the task of making auction items for our recent food-bank fundraiser.  The next item on the list was a sweater requested for Leo, the son of a co-worker.  Specifically, Steggie.  I was more than pleased to do this, as I’ve always liked the pattern.  In fact, I suspect I’d wear this sweater myself if I could find or make it in the right size. 

I was given free rein to choose the colors, which led to an interesting philosophical question: would dinosaurs wear purple?  So-called scientists would have us believe that dinosaurs ultimately turned into birds.  And I’ve seen birds with some crazy plumage.  But I can’t say that I’ve ever personally seen a bird sporting purple feathers.  Ultimately, I concluded that dinosaurs must have been willing to wear purple.  How else could you explain Barney?

So here it is, Leo’s Steggie.  It is largely identical to the pattern, but with a slight variation on the plumage of the hood.




Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Will Knit for Food pt 1

The Republic of Dadifornia

Summer, it seems is on its last legs here in the Pacific northwest. There is a decided chill in the air. Though we gave it a good try, we were unable to match our record for most consecutive days without rain (51 days, set back in the 1950s). The rain has started to return. The mosquitoes seem to have departed - replaced by droves of spiders.

It is, in short, the time of year when a (relatively) young man's thoughts turn to sweaters and fleece. And quiet evenings sitting by the fire in the Republic of Dadifornia with an attractive redhead after the kids have gone to bed. Good stuff, really.

It is also the time of year when a fellow starts to feel seriously that he must put aside the laissez-faire of the summer, and get to business on his obligations lest Uncle Arvide spread it all over town that he is a welcher.

So that is precisely what I've begun to do. Several weeks back I agreed to make a number of items for a fundraiser put on at the firm. A contest among several local law firms to see which can raise the most money for a local food bank. Four of my colleagues agreed to donate good money to have me make something, and since I didn't want to disappoint, I got to work.
The first is now complete. This is my interpretation of Juno Regina, knit in lace weight Shibui. My good friend J.R. was the first to pull the trigger on the donation and, roughly 660 yards of mohair and silk later, her project is the first off the needles. I delivered it to her today, and I'm pleased to report that she seems to like it. I know I liked making it.



Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Best Foot Forward

This morning, on the way in to the office, I ran into a friend.  A former colleague, he and I share many interests – scotch being among them. 

Grabbing my attention, he told me he needed to share something with me.  In fact, he said he needed to share something about me.

Being somewhat prone to narcissism (I do blog, after all), I was naturally interested in what he might need to share.  Unfortunately, however, the opportunity for him to share this great secret didn’t arise during the commute, and I made my way to the office in suspense.

A short while later, I shot him an email.  What did he need to talk with me about?  Was everything ok?

He responded with a cut and paste from facebook.  One of his friends.  And as I read the text, my head began to swim. 

Mr. Rogersish normal looking guy. Felt man purse holding his knitting.  Vibram shoes. #onlyontheferry

In the immortal words of Keanu Reeves: Whoa.

First of all, I look very little like Mr. Rogers.  And I never interact with puppets.  Well, almost never.  There was that one time in college.  But that was just a phase.

Second, what’s wrong with Vibram shoes?  They are comfortable, sporty and yes, just a little bit quirky.  In essence, they are the Fiat 500 Abarth of footwear.  Sure, it may not be for everyone.  But that’s just because not everyone has the necessary forza di carattere.

Third.  It isn’t a man purse.  It is a satchel.  But it is felted.  By me.  It kicks ass.

And it does hold my knitting.  Currently, it is holding the first of four projects I've agreed to make "to order" as part of a fundraiser for a local food bank.  The first is my interpretation of Juno Regina.  I cast on this past Saturday, and hope to share the finished product soon.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Of Vice and Arugula

Let me be frank.  I loathe arugula. 

I want to like it.  Badly.  But I just don't.  And I feel the same way about Kale and Swiss Chard.  As far as I can tell, Swiss Chard is about as useful as a Swiss Army Knife.  Sure it can do the job you ask of it.  But it won't do it particularly well and you're likely to be left with a bitter taste in your mouth and a strong suspicion that something else might have been better.

In the case of the Swiss Army Knife, that something else might simply be a rock.  Come to think of it, there are probably also some rocks that taste better than Swiss Chard.

The problem is, these so-called vegetables are supposed to be good for me, so I feel like I should like them.  And in my experience, any time I feel like I should something, but don't want to, the should feeling is closely followed by the three horsemen of the psychosalypse: shame, remorse and failure. 

At the same time, I've noted a predisposition toward enjoying things that may not be good for me -  like high-velocity two-wheeled transportation, firearms and striking up occasionally incendiary conversations with complete strangers.  These can be fun and exciting events.  But of course I don't often feel pleased with myself after these escapades.  They haunt me.  Like the time I told the folks soliciting on the sidewalk for a noble cause that I couldn't support their mission because I was not, in fact, in favor of human rights.  Honestly, how could I say such a thing?  Or the time I looked deep into the eyes of the very earnest young woman collecting signatures for a petition on an undoubtedly worthy state ballot initiative and said: "I'm sorry; I don't speak English." 

I know that I shouldn't enjoy doing or saying these things.  But sometimes I really do.  There's something to be said for the thrill of doing things slightly outside the ordinary course.  This is precisely the reason you'll see my honorary doctorate in metaphysics hanging neatly framed in my office - but the law degrees are nowhere to be found.

Here in Seattle, we lost a great institution a few years back: The Lusty Lady.  It was a landmark.  A peep-show environment right across the street from the Seattle Art Museum and right next door to The Four Seasons.  It was, in every conceivable way, a thumb in the eye of respectability and decorum. 

Outside the Lady, the marquee offered up funny snippets or clever sayings - designed to attract attention.  So every St. Patrick's Day, for example, you could count on it reading "Erin Go Braugh-less" for a few days or so.  Classic stuff.

The establishment had a habit of giving away a t-shirt to anyone who could come up with a new saying good enough for use on the marquee.  And I tried for years to come up with something good enough to get used.  But no luck.  I worked on crafting tawdry double-entendre for years but none ever made it to publication on the marquee.  Just once, I thought I'd done it.  There was a group of somewhat notorious crab fishermen in town for a media tour - but apparently "Deadliest Snatch" wasn't precisely the message that the Lady was trying to convey.

Oh well.

And with that as background, my most recently completed item kind of makes a bit of sense, I guess.  Mrs. TSMK's brother and his wife recently welcomed the birth of a son.  When asked if they might like something made for the little one, her brother mentioned a viking hat I'd done for one of my sons a while back.  The thought of a newborn in an absurd hat is always fun - so I was happy to oblige.  Willem's hat is below.  I've made it slightly big so that he can wear it once he begins to toddle about.   After all, you can't really pillage until you can toddle, now can you?


Friday, May 18, 2012

Getting Cold Feet

Way back when - when I was an undergraduate student at a certain university, I was one day summoned to meet with an academic advisor.  It seemed that I'd amassed quite a number of credits.  Enough credits to mean that I would theoretically need to graduate the next semester.  But there was a problem.

I hadn't declared a major.

That isn't entirely true.  I had declared a major (music) when I initially enrolled.  But I hadn't actively pursued that major for some time and had actually managed to avoid classes within that discipline for a few semesters.  This had the academic advisor types somewhat troubled, and my advisor told me - without even cracking a smile - that I would need to declare a major immediately or else I would be persona non grata on campus.  She kindly showed me a list of options that she'd pulled together - potential majors for which I'd already satisfied a large percentage of the requirements.  By picking one of these, she said, I could remain in good standing, take the final courses necessary to complete my degree, and graduate.

According to her analysis, I had two clear options available: Philosophy and Linguistics.

I looked at the course catalog.  One of these options gave me the chance to take classes like Metaphysics and Epistemology.  The other did not.  It was an easy choice.

But in hindsight, I think I also would have enjoyed studying linguistics.  I have always found language (and really all types of communication) to be a fascinating topic.  In fact, just recently I spent an enjoyable afternoon discussing with a friend a SETI analysis of the frequency of certain dolphin vocalizations (with the implications that there is intentional content - i.e., meaning - being conveyed among the animals making the sounds).

But linguistics would need to wait for another day - leaving me to explore language on my own.  As part of that exploration I find myself consistently fascinated by idioms.  To say that I use them a lot wouldn't exactly be letting the cat out of the bag.  In fact, I'm on idioms like white on rice.  As a rule of thumb, I use them for the whole nine yards.  Get the picture?  Because I could beat this particular dead horse until the cows come home to roost.

And with that as background, I should mention my most recently completed project: a new pair of socks for Mrs. TSMK.  She gets cold feet.  Literally. 

The yarn is Malabrigo Sock - and the pattern is a slightly modified version of Riff by Lise Brackbill. 

I'm pleased to report that she likes them.  And, linguistically speaking, I'm glad she doesn't seem to be getting cold feet about the whole marriage bit; we're celebrating our 16th anniversary this next week.


Tuesday, April 10, 2012


Recently I was asked why I’d kept this blog quasi-anonymous.  Was I afraid of the stigma associated with being a guy who knits?  And wasn’t I perpetuating the stereotype of knitting as somehow effeminate by “selling myself as a novelty”?

Weighty questions, these.

The first is easy to answer.  I’m not afraid of people knowing that I knit.  In fact, most people who know me on a personal level have seen me in the middle of a project.  And since I’m a big proponent of knitting in public, and do so essentially every workday, I feel like if I had anything to prove in terms of knitting bravery I would have proved it long ago.  I’m afraid of many things - spiders, for example - but having people learn that I like to knit isn’t one of them.

The second question, though…  That’s a doozy.  Am I perpetuating a stereotype with this blog?  I hope not as it certainly isn’t my intent.  For that matter, I’m not particularly comfortable with the idea of “selling myself” – regardless of whether it is as a novelty or otherwise.  There’s something a bit too transactional about that notion for my taste. 

But regardless of whether perpetuating a stereotype was my intent, is it a consequence of my actions?

I don’t know.  

But after discussion with my most trusted advisor (Mrs. TSMK), I’ve decided that it makes sense to clear the air, state my position on a few things, and try to put to rest any questions that might otherwise linger about who I am, or why I write these intermittent and frequently goofy posts.  So here goes.

My name is Brian.

I am 38 years old. 

I grew up primarily in the Southeast and now make my home in the Pacific Northwest.

I am happily married (15 years) to a woman I began dating when I was 17.

I am the father of three boys.

I am a practicing Buddhist.

I believe that my purpose on earth is to try to help alleviate the suffering of others.

I believe that the idea that one’s gender or sexual orientation dictates all of one’s choices in life is false, and that this falsehood is one significant cause of suffering.

I am hopeful that by writing these posts I may help to eliminate this suffering.

And I am hopeful that by writing these posts I may provide some small measure of enjoyment to those may read them.


With that out of the way – let me share with you my most recently (almost) finished project.  It is a messenger bag, knit and then highly felted.  All that is left is to attach buttons for the front flap.  But with this bag, I’m thinking that I want something handmade for buttons.  So I’ve found some particularly nice beach rocks – which I hope to make into buttons for the bag. 

I like this quite a bit, and plan to use it for my commuting bag for the foreseeable future.  In fact, I like it so much that I've decided to part with what was previously my favorite bag.  I put that one up for auction.  Should someone of a particularly crafty mentality decide to buy it - I hope you will let me know as I'll make sure to include some sort of yarn or other knitting goodness inside when it is shipped off.

may you be free from danger
may you be healthy
may you be happy
may you live in peace


Tuesday, April 3, 2012

We Are Stardust

March is now memory.  Or is it?

For the past few weeks, I’ve been spending some time on the existential hamster wheel.  Spring is finally here – and in a gesture inclined toward seasonal solidarity I have thrown off all vestiges of facial hair.  With luck, a freshly shaven chin will help usher in a season of growth in the garden.

But it isn’t just the garden that seems to be experiencing growth.  And it isn’t only our rabbits that seem to be multiplying. 

In these past several weeks I’ve learned of three additional arrivals.  One is here, and two are expected any moment.  None are relations, but all are indeed related inasmuch as I find that their arrival impacts those around me and I am in turn changed by their arrival.  And, though I know that suffering finds roots not only at the rejection of the unpleasant but also the grasping of the pleasant, and acknowledge full well that they are not exactly “new”, I nevertheless find myself feeling joy in welcoming these friends to this particular corner of the neighborhood.

The first is a girl.  As I write this, she has not yet arrived.  But I have seen her mother, Chanel, almost every weekday for the last several years.  In fact, she is often one of the first people with whom I converse.  When I see her, she greets me with a smile and a cheerful voice:  Are you having your usual?”  And with those five words, and the promise of hot coffee in hand, my workday begins. 

A short while ago, I noticed that she wasn’t standing behind the register any longer.  Instead, she had begun propping herself up on a stool.  And it was only then that I noticed something was different. 

Now in fairness, I stand by a firm rule that I will not insinuate, suggest or acknowledge the fact of a pregnancy unless either: (i) I have been informed by the expectant mother of the pregnancy; or (ii) the child is actually crowning and assistance is required.  Standing by this rule has allowed me to avoid congratulating many not-yet-expecting mothers.  And since I am capable of embarrassing myself quite well enough without committing this particular faux-pas, I think this is a rule worth keeping.

When I saw her leaning against the stool, I almost violated this most sacred of rules.  But at the last moment my wits returned to me and I was able to reshape the question that was swirling in my mind: “Are you feeling ok?  It was a great relief when she took the bait – telling me that the baby was starting to make her feel very uncomfortable.  A few mornings later, I learned she was having a little girl.  This was helpful information, since I had already decided the child needed a blanket.  Nothing too fancy, but something with bright contrasting colors to attract the little one’s eyes.  I decided on square, with mitered corners. 

But procreation, it seemed, was in the air.  For when I was about half finished with the blanket, I found myself on the phone with a good friend and former colleague, Megan.  A few years back, I saw Megan nearly every day.  Now, I talk with her quite a lot but rarely see her in person.  And as we chatted about the crystalline beauty that is the federal regulation of securities – she seemed distracted.  In fact, she seemed unwell.  Without knowing the cause of her discomfort, I asked if she was feeling unwell.  Heartburn” she replied.  I let it pass – but, seeing as we were at the lunch hour I suggested at the end of the call that she might benefit from a bite to eat.  Wouldn’t help,” she replied.  “Pretty much anything I eat these days gives me heartburn.  But I only have about three weeks left…”. 

To say that there was a pregnant pause on the phone would be both an understatement and a bad pun.  So I will avoid such a comment.

But sure enough, when I expressed disbelief Megan confirmed the truth.  She was indeed expecting, and quite soon.   A boy.  I redoubled my efforts on the blanket – wanting to get it finished so that I could get started on something for the little fellow.  I decided on a toy, found a pattern and set to work.  The pattern is 60+ years old – originally published in a newspaper in Sydney.  And although it claims to be a bear, I think it might serve as a stand-in for a mouse.  Either way, however, I’m hopeful that the moss stitch texture will feel good in little hands.

But good things come in threes – and there was still one shoe left to drop.  For Mrs. TSMK’s mother called and began dropping hints.  A friend was becoming a great-grandmother.  It would be a little girl.  Could I make something?  Just something small – like booties.

I resisted the urge to go with booties – too pedestrian.  But the footwear theme seemed right.  So how about a pair of mary jane shoes, done in sparkly pink with a pearlescent button?  Too much?  Probably – but I had to make them anyway. 

Welcome to the neighborhood kids.  Have a good time.


Sunday, March 11, 2012

Natural Wonders

Years from now, when my children have children of their own, I look forward to telling the tale.  I will embellish it, of course.  But only slightly. 
"Kids", I'll say.  "Let me tell you about the great rabbit migration of twenty-twelve.  And they'll listen with rapt attention as I tell of the days when rabbits roamed free.  Eight of them.  In the kitchen. 

The calendar doesn't agree, but from the looks of things, spring has actually arrived.  Gigi's kits are growing like mad.  The hops have started growing in the garden and the tobacco has sprouted in the office.  And the spring auction season is well underway. 

In addition to the shawl I did for the PAWS auction - I agreed to do a piece for my two older boys' school auction.  Since lace shawls seem to be popular at the event, I stayed the course.

This is my version of Haruni, by Emily Ross.  The pattern suggests doing it in a slightly heavier yarn - but I'm a sucker for laceweight blocked nearly to death.  So I've done mine in Malabrigo lace.  At about 44 inches wide, it isn't exactly huge.  But the merino-based Malabrigo (even if there is only about 45 grams of it in the shawl) is amazingly warm.  Just right for a blustery day on the Puget Sound - or a slightly misty walk through the woods.

If you're local and you like what you see - come to the auction and make it your own.  I understand tickets are still available.

Last, as a bit of housekeeping, I was contacted recently by a nice lady in the UK - doing an article on the Phenomenon of the Male Knitter.  Interesting bit and worth a read - although that last guy she interviewed doesn't seem entirely trustworthy.


Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Things I've Learned

Every so often, I think it is probably wise to do something of a mental debriefing: to reflect on things I’ve learned recently.  This morning, I found myself doing just that.  And, as is my custom, I will now share with you what I’ve learned, what I think I’ve learned, and what I’m not sure whether I’ve learned or not.

One thing I’ve learned is that every year, without fail, I prematurely predict the arrival of spring.  I notice a few crocus (crocuses?  crocusi?) poking out of the ground, a bud on a cherry tree or two, and congratulate myself on having made it through another long, dark and wet winter here in the Pacific Northwest.  Thus congratulated, I will look out of my window and notice snow flurries.  And so one thing that I think I’ve learned is that while I am actually rather poor at predicting spring – I am reasonably good at precipitation prognostication.

Another thing I’ve learned is that there is great satisfaction in finishing projects.  I am notorious for keeping multiple projects going at a time.  So much so, that while helping me organize my stash and projects (most awesome Christmas gift ever) Mrs. TSMK filled an entire plastic bin with things “in the works”.  Honestly, I knew I had a few things going – but didn’t realize I had a full bin’s worth.  So since the holidays I’ve been trying to finish a thing or twelve.  I completed a sweater vest that I started roughly a year ago, as well as a pair of socks (I’ll share those with you in future posts).  So I am making progress.

But it is difficult to focus on finishing your vegetables when your dessert is available – and even more so when people are actually asking you to eat the dessert.  And one thing I know for certain is that just as certain as shame follows spandex, the arrival of the crocus (crocusae?) is followed by the beginning of the charity auction season.  I’ve been asked to donate to two such auctions this year – and have delivered the first item: an asymmetrical scarf/wrap/thing done in Madelinetosh with beads.  From tip to tip it is about 50 inches – and the sheen of the yarn seems to complement the beads nicely.  If you’re local and want to see it up close, or better yet buy it and support a good cause, you’ll want to attend the Progressive Animal Welfare Society (PAWS) Wild Night Gala on April 14.  Hope to see you there!


Friday, February 24, 2012

An evening well spent

Last night, I found myself wondering about many things.  Like why it is that those three big pyramids on the Giza plateau are in an alignment almost identical to the three stars in Orion's belt.  And why it is that I can't seem to find Yoo-Hoo in the Pacific Northwest. 

Some of these things (like the Yoo-Hoo), I wonder why I wonder.  But if there is one thing that daily meditation has taught me it is that my mind goes where it goes, and I really shouldn't worry about it.

As for the pyramids, Orion's accessory and last night, well I wondered these things because I was sitting outside on the front porch.  Mrs. TSMK had a girls' night out.  And I had a guy's night at home.  Just me and the two other members of the TSMK Blog staff - the Labrador and the Corgi.  We sat on the porch, the three of us, and gazed at the stars, sipped excellent bourbon out of a jelly jar and puffed on a pipe.  Well, actually the three of us didn't do those two last things.  Those were just me.  I've found that the Labrador drools a bit too much to let him puff on my pipe.  And bourbon makes the Corgi a smidge gassy.

And while sitting on the porch, I had a moment to use my latest completed object.  This has no rhyme, reason or pattern.  But it was something that needed to be done: a felted pipe cozie/condom.  And, to go with it - a similar cozie/condom for my tamper. 

The yarn is Shetland DK.  The pipe is a Luciano.  The bourbon is gone. 


Monday, February 13, 2012

A matter of National Importance


It isn’t often that I use this forum for something other than pure entertainment purposes.  But today I feel I must.  Indeed, I believe I would be shirking my responsibilities as a quasi-public-pseudo-personality if I did not bring an important issue to your immediate attention.

But I must warn you.  The issue I raise today is of paramount importance.  In fact, it may be the most pressing issue of the day – and yet our political leaders appear ambivalent to the pending crisis.  We stand, as it were, on a precipice.  And it is my great fear that we find ourselves today standing precisely where the Romans stood as Nero fiddled into the night.

We are losing the pastry race. 

I know that those are bitter words to swallow. 

Allow me to explain.  I am in the throes of OFB 2012 (“Operation Fat Bastard” ©TSMK).  Like many non-recurring charges on a corporation’s balance sheet, OFB is a one-time event that seems to occur on a yearly basis.  If memory serves, OFB 2012 is sixth consecutive observance of this once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

To mark this auspicious occasion, participants spend absurd amounts of time running on moving belts while pondering the mysteries of chafed nipples, and attempting to avoid hernia while lifting heavy objects. 

Like all semi-religious observances, there is also a certain amount of fasting involved.  Not your average – don’t eat a single thing – kind of fasting.  Just the kind of fasting where you don’t eat anything that you actually enjoy.  Ten pounds of raw spinach?  Knock yourself out.  A single morsel of chocolate?  Only at the risk of eternal damnation. 

The goal of OFB, like all such observances, is to perform penance for prior sins, and to maintain a certain level of grace in the eyes of a more evolved being.  But, of course, with denial of the flesh comes temptation. 

And it is precisely that temptation that has caused me to become aware of the pastry-debacle facing our nation today.  For essentially every first-world country has a signature pastry.  But as far as I can tell, we have none of any meaningful importance. 

I have the solution.  For I have, in a fit of anaerobic light-headedness, had a mouth-watering vision of splendor. 

We need a chocolate-covered bagel-thing.  In its ideal form, this delectable morsel would have the chewy saltiness of a traditional kosher-salt bagel – but would covered (nay – drenched) with a chocolate ganache.  With a bagel such as this, we could take over the world. 

In other news – tonight I will finish what is (I think) my fifth pair of socks.  And this pair is for me.  The pattern is Java – found on Knitty.  Rather than run the ribbed cables out to the end of the toe (and run what seemed like a decent risk of running out of yarn – I’ve used the pattern’s decreasing structure but some left over Socks that Rock yarn to do a contrasting toe.  I like these quite a lot. 

And in other news, Gigi is now the proud mother of eight young kits.  She would have written the second installment of the Ballad of Buster and Gigi, but she’s been quite busy chasing Buster for child support while nursing the hungry kits.  So she asked me to provide the update – along with a picture of the growing brood.

Gigi's kits 11 days 010

This brings our herd of angora to 14 - and I'm already quite eager to spin some of the wool from the dark kits in this litter. 


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

The Land of Port

Malabrigo Rios Scrunchy Scarf
I enjoy the occasional port.  Something well-aged, served after dinner either with or in place of dessert.  Maybe near a crackling fire, with a sleeping dog at my feet.  Good stuff, really.

So I'm pleasantly optimistic about this weekend, when I will travel to Portland, Oregon for business.  Now in fairness I've been to Portland several times before and never managed to get a decent port.  But hope springs eternal.

I'm going to be in meetings all day on Saturday, but if I make it down early enough on Friday I plan to check out a few of the local yarn shops.  If you happen to have a favorite in the area, shoot me a message and let me know. 

Manos del Uruguay Slipped Stitch Scarf
Continuing in the Christmas theme from my last post, let me share a trio of scarves.  I like making scarves for gifts because they typically take just long enough to make to be pleasant - but not so long as to turn to drudgery.  This Christmas, I made five: one for my assistant, one for my sister, one for a good friend, one for my son's kindergarten teacher, and one for the Christmas-gift-listapalooza giveaway.
Malabrigo Worsted Bias-Ribbed Scarf

For my son's teacher, one skein of Manos del Uruguay with a slipped stitch pattern.  For my good friend, one skein of Malabrigo Worsted (a personal favorite), knit on the bias with a ribbed pattern.  And for the contestant, one skein of Malabrigo Rios, knit in a scrunchy pattern and then blocked within an inch of it's wooly life. All three were fun to make - and true to history each was done in about a week of commuting time. 


Thursday, January 12, 2012

The Ballad of Buster and Gigi

He desired her from the moment they first met.  The dark eyes.  The button nose.  The voluptuous hips.  And that hair.  She was a goddess.  He knew he must have her for his own.

From the instant their eyes locked, she knew he was trouble.  The kind of guy her mother would have warned her about, if she'd bothered to hang around.  The kind of guy who would love her and, almost certainly, leave her.  The kind of guy who would make her a single mother without a second thought.

She vowed to be strong.  She would resist.  She would not submit to his advances.

But still, she could feel his eyes burning into her.  Penetrating her soul from behind the cold grey bars of his cell.

And when the fateful day finally did arrive, the day she was delivered into his clutches, she found herself unable to resist.  Though she knew it was foolish, she found herself falling under his spell until finally, drunk on passion and papaya, she lost herself in his embrace.

When it was over, it was exactly as she feared.  He had his way with her, and never gave her a second glance.  Clearly she meant nothing to him - just another conquest.  A notch in the hutch.  Now he was gone.  And her belly was starting to swell.

[Stay tuned for the next installment of the ballad - hopefully around February 1]

In my last post, I began to describe holiday projects.  Continuing that theme, let me share another - a sweater for my dad.  The pattern is Smokin' - a Jared Flood design.  I've done it in Ironstone, which I like for the drape as well as the variegated color.  I like the shape of the sweater quite a bit, and may need to make another one for myself in something tweedy.