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.

~TSMK

 

 

You can't take it with you

As regular readers and my dogs know, I've been staying up quite a bit lately to work on Christmas knitting.

What those same readers probably do not know is that I've been a virtual widower for much of that time. For you see, Mrs. TSMK has an addiction. And that addiction involves moody vampires. Whether they are from the swamps of Louisiana or the rainforests of Washington, she finds them fascinating. Actually, fascinating isn't the right word. Sexy is more likely the right word.

I've tried to explain to her that since vampires don't have any blood, her hyper-sexy male vampire characters would be unable to achieve an erection even if they had all the Viagra in the world - and therefore vampires would seem to be essentially asexual. But rationality apparently doesn't apply.

So, with Mrs. TSMK glued to either the television or her Kindle, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the garage. But don’t cry for me quite yet, Argentina. For the garage is more man-cave than simple garage. In fact, I like it rather a lot. It has nearly everything a guy might need. A television and stereo. Comfy chairs. A treadmill. And several large bins of yarn. Truly a magical place. The only thing missing is a never-ending pizza buffet.

And since Mrs. TSMK is in the other room, I don’t have to worry about her seeing what I’m watching on television and coming to the screaming realization that she married something of a nerd.

[Hopefully she won’t read this and discover the truth – everyone please promise not to tell her.]

Left to my own devices, I find that my remote control naturally steers me toward programs concerning history, astronomy, UFOlogy, the paranormal and the like. Give me a set of circular needles, some laceweight yarn, a television show about the Roswell incident, and I’m a happy guy.

But a few nights ago, my love of these programs came to a screeching halt. For I learned a very unpleasant truth: The World Will End on the Winter Solstice in 2012.

You see, apparently this date for the end of the world has been foretold by countless seers throughout history. And their premonitions are corroborated by the ancient Mayan calendar and the I Ching. And not only that, but the winter solstice in 2012 will be a date of significance in astronomical terms as well – a galactic alignment occurring only once every twenty-five thousand years or so.

Now, being a natural skeptic, I of course sought out my own oracle: the all-knowing echidna who sits at the center of the universe. I hoped that he could shed some light on these theories. But on this occasion, I’m afraid he was of little help. For you see, the Echidna travels constantly through time and space, and although he was in the man cave with me, his physical presence was actually manifesting itself several months into the future.

A few weeks ago the entire TSMK clan acquired some 200 lbs or so of apples and pears, with the intention of pressing the fruit and making cider. Well, since he knows and sees all, the Echidna had apparently traveled forward in time and was, quite frankly, drunk off his butt on the cider that we’ve yet to press and allow to ferment. In his inebriated state all said in response to my inquiries was “We should’ve gotten a live chicken.”

Honestly, his guidance to me is often cryptic. But this was particularly unhelpful. I don’t honestly know whether he heard my question correctly, or simply thought I was trying to hit a curve ball.

Readers, our impending doom is big news. The kind of news that causes one to reevaluate one’s priorities. The kind of news that could lead a person to significant discoveries about himself. And I have made such a discovery.

I have too much yarn. So much, in fact, that I will never be able to use all of it before our impending destruction.

And this is where you can help. For I have decided to de-stash somewhat. Over the next few weeks I plan to go through my bins of yarn, pull out items that I’m unlikely to use, and give them away. And that’s why I’m announcing the First Annual TSMK De-Stash-A-Palooza. 

I’m going to pull out the yarn, and plan to give it away in two batches. I can’t say exactly what will be in each batch yet. But trust me on this one – you’re going to like it.

As with prior events, I’m going to judge entries on the basis of creativity. So sharpen those pencils and start writing poems. Or clean your lens and start shooting photos. And send them to me at tsmkblog@yahoo.com. Enter as many times as you like – but know that I will pick two separate winners: one for each batch of yarn.

Good luck, and may the Echidna be with you.

~TSMK

Explanatory Post-Script:  Many are asking whether the entry must be a poem.  It need not.  Entries can consist of anything that may be emailed.  Many others are asking whether there are any mandatory themes for entries (e.g., knitting or crafts).  No such themes are required.  Again, the winning entries will be selected solely on the basis of creativity and imagination.  Essentially - the two things that win will be the two things that I enjoy reading/hearing/viewing/whatevering the most.

The Day Everything Changed

When I was around 11, I lived for a brief time in a very small farming community in eastern Washington. Our nearest neighbors were an elderly couple who lived about a half-mile away. At the time, my brother and sister were both under the age of three, so we didn’t have a lot of interaction at that point.


It was a landscape of wheat fields and abandoned barns. Deserted farmhouses offered the potential for exploration, but the price of admission was spooky ambiance and a consistent fear of falling into a hidden abandoned well.

And then there was the darkness.

When we moved there, I was not afraid of the dark. Or rather, I wasn’t afraid of what I thought was the dark. But, as it turns out, I really hadn’t experienced dark until that year. Not true dark. The kind of dark you get from being 50 miles away from the nearest city of any size. The kind of dark you get when you can see a band of the milky way crossing the sky.

And it was that year that I saw him.

I had always thought perhaps he was there. There was always this feeling that something could hear my thoughts. Something knew. But then one night, it all became crystal clear. I remember my mom asked me to take out the trash. On the way back from this most mundane of errands, I looked up and saw him. To borrow a phrase, he was simply hovering there, in much the way that a brick wouldn’t. I saw his pointed snout and his beady eyes and I knew immediately.

He was watching me. He had singled me out. In an instant he communicated to me across time and space all that I needed to know. For you see, he has always been with us.

I began to research, and eventually stumbled across a few historical documents demonstrating his presence. For example, historians have long wondered about references in the written record to a mysterious presence at the battle of Agincourt in 1415. But take a look at the painting of this event, and I think you’ll agree that the truth is inescapable. He is there.

Even today, he makes appearances from time to time in the most unusual of places.

From that day forward, he has been with me at all times. Not always visible. In fact, he is only rarely visible to me now and again. But he is here.

And, thanks to Amy in Iowa, I can now carry a representation of him around with me at all times. I must say, he is a bit too lifelike as he seems to have too great a thirst for single-malt scotch.

But it isn’t all bad, for he’s helping me finish the Jeanie.

As for the giveaway, I’ve only received a handful of entries to date – none of which have correctly identified all three falsehoods. There are about two and a half weeks remaining to the deadline for entries. Plenty of time to consult The Echidna.

~TSMK

What would you choose?

Suppose you were given a choice. You could have any conceivable superpower. What would you choose?

Super strength? Well that worked well for Superman, but by the 50th time you accidentally pulled a door off of its hinges or crushed a kitten you might begin to rethink your selection.

Super senses? Spiderman did well with this one. But personally, I’m not sure I’d want Palatka to smell any stronger. And I definitely wouldn’t want Hell to be any louder. So I’d pass on that one as well.

Invisibility? That’s intriguing. But I think it might be a prelude to mental illness. If I had the ability to be invisible, I’m thinking my personal hygiene would begin to suffer. And once your personal hygiene goes down the drain, madness must soon follow.

No, for me there would be only one choice: the ability to manipulate time.

With this power, you don’t need any of the others. Plus, this power gives you the chance to stretch out those periods of life that you want to savor and to accelerate those things you would prefer to be over.

I’d like to say that I would use this power only for good - like stopping time in order to scoop up the small dog that has wandered into traffic before it got hurt. I would indeed use it for those types of purposes.

But, I’m afraid I would use it for other – somewhat less charitable - purposes as well. Like slowing down time just enough so that every evening when Mrs. TSMK gets ready for bed her normal cadence of disrobing is transformed into a sultry striptease. That would be awesome.

Unfortunately, I cannot manipulate time in normal space and so I am unlikely to find a way to surreptitiously change my bedroom into a gentlemen’s club. But I can manipulate what I’ll call Blog-time.

And I now exercise my right to do just that. Notwithstanding earlier suggestions about the length of time that TSMKBO-YAG would remain in effect. I hereby declare the giveaway completed. For I have made my selection.

There were many excellent entries. And in truth, I wish I could pick more than one. But in the end, my choice was clear. Amy from Iowa ran away with this one.

For you see, Amy suggested that I need a mascot for my desk. But not just any mascot. No, Amy recognized the deeply spiritual nature of this journal and, in recognition of my admittedly unusual leanings, she committed to making: The Echidna.

And so, with Amy’s help, I will be paying homage to the all-knowing echidna who sits at the center of the universe. She will knit together the skin of this spiny deity – although he will not be anatomically correct and she will therefore not attempt to knit a representation of his four-sided penis. I will work to create a suitable environment within my office for him to sit. And, once appropriately enshrined, The Echidna will prove a worthy subject of contemplation and reflection.

Thank you to all who participated.  And thank you Amy for your fantastic submission.  Echidna permitting, I will post pictures on his arrival.

~TSMK

TSMKBO-YAG Update & a Confession

First - the update:

As of today, we're approximately one week into the TSMKBO-YAG and things are definitely interesting.  I've received a number of very appealing offers, ranging from hats to bowls to amigurimi.  And yes, I've been referred to as Delectable.  I confess I rather like the sound of that last bit.

And lest anyone forget, the selected participant will be receiving 4 skeins of Cascade 220, along with two rustic skeins of yarn, hand-washed, hand-carded and hand-spun by yours truly. 

And now - the confession:

I can't pick.  There, I said it.  Now it is out in the open.  And after all, since the first step is admitting you have the problem I feel good about coming clean.  Whew - catharsis can be exhausting.

But I still can't pick.  At least not with respect to knitting.  I'm actually getting almost decent at my clawhammer banjo efforts - and can passably flatpick when required.  But picking at knitting?  That's another story altogether.

This past weekend I took a class at my LYS and still all-time favorite shop.  The class was intended to teach picking to those of us who throw.

I throw.  Vigorously.  And I think I'm relatively quick at it so I wasn't interested in learning to pick in order to gain speed.  No, I wanted to learn because like an idiot I recently purchased Traditional Scandinavian Knitting by Sheila MaGregor and Mostly Mittens: Ethnic Knitting Designs from Russia by Charlene Schurch.

Apparently, one of the traditions in traditional Scandinavian and Russian knitting is to use as many colors as possible.  I've knitted a few multi-hued things in the past, but have always thought it would be nice to find a way to knit with one color in each hand.  Picking offered me the promise of doing just that.








But alas, that promise went unfulfilled when my fingers revealed their true stripes.  Manual dexterity was a thing of the past.  In fact, as the class progressed I actually began to wonder if perhaps my fingers had been drinking.  That sounds strange, obviously, but if I recall correctly a lesson learned in my youth - this is entirely possible.



If Mr. Bimble can hire the crew.  Then perhaps I have my own Mr. Bimble - or Mr. Bumble.  Or an entire Mr. Bumble family.  And if that is possible, then it is possible that they were drinking on the job.

Yes.  That must be it.  It isn't that I lack manual dexterity, it is the besotted Bumble family living in my fingers which must be blamed.  I must speak to The Echidna about them and perhaps get them into some form of twelve-step program.











And so, although I cannot yet adequately pick, I will soldier on.  I want to make some multistranded mittens for use this winter, and so need to get started. 

On a positive note, I finished my first foray into the world of entrelac: a blanket for the child of a coworker.  Some will recognize it as the blanket which first caused me to come to grips with my adorableness.  Finished and blocked, it is roughly 28" x 48" - or the approximate size of a crib mattress.  Berroco Comfort in pink and white, with a pink i-cord edging.  At approximately 49,000 stitches (not including the edging), this one took quite a while from start to finish, although its progress was interrupted for a period by the need to complete the Jungle Party Stole.  Now that it is done, I can get back to working on the next item to be given away (which should follow soon after the completion of TSMKBO-YAG.


~TSMK

The Importance of Ritual

Today marks the one-year anniversary of this blog. It has been a lot of fun, and more than a fair amount of work. I’m averaging slightly less than one post per week. That doesn’t seem like a lot, but it takes a decent amount of time for me to center myself, make contact with the all-knowing echidna who sits at the center of the universe, channel his energy and then put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard, as the case may be). Plus, all that time takes away from my available knitting time, so the more I write the less I might seem to have to write about. Quite the paradox – Zeno would be proud.

As I am a creature of habit, I would like to find a way to incorporate my blogospheric efforts into my daily routine. To develop a ritual of putting finger to keyboard at the same time every day. This approach serves me well in many other aspects of my life. I know, for example, that every morning when I brush my teeth I will place my left hand on the edge of the sink, lean on that arm, and stare at my face in the mirror during the process. By engaging in this ritual every morning, I inure myself to the potential shock that might result if I failed to stare at myself for simply a few days, and returned to the looking glass to see the steady effects of the aging process.

Ritual is good. It is healthy. And it helps us cope. Just ask a few of my retirement-age colleagues who still come to the office every day. If they failed to come to the office they might die – or at least suffer the pangs of catastrophic constipation.

I am a fan of ritual. So much so in fact that I make a practice of incorporating ritual into my life wherever possible. And I hope to share the benefits of ritual with others. So, for example, I underwent the arduous challenge of Internet-based ordination so that I might be qualified to officiate at weddings and other similarly ritual-laden ceremonies. But despite the book that came with my excellently laminated card proclaiming me The Right Reverend TSMK, my ordination did not provide me with any insight into how I might incorporate ritual into my blogging.

No, this effort (and its recently launched companion blog: http://bytesofgrass.blogspot.com/) are apparently unaided by ritual. The echidna will not be constrained.

And so, without ritual, I must fall back on what I find motivates me most about this blog: the readers. And as I am not hindered by scruples, I am prepared to offer continued incentive toward readership. Yes. That’s right. I’m giving something else away.  I’m hereby announcing the start of the TSMK BLOG ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY GIVEAWAY (the “TSMKBO-YAG”).

But this something is not a finished object (but stay tuned for an FO giveaway in the next month or so). And it is not without price. Here’s the deal. I’ve decided to give away something from my stash. Several somethings, in fact. I’m giving away four skeins of my favorite workaday yarn – Cascade 220. But there’s a catch. I’d like to receive something in return. Specifically, I’m hoping we can reach a deal on an FO. I supply the yarn and the recipient uses some of it (absolutely no more than two skeins – preferably one skein) to make me something. It can be something for my office. Something for me to wear. Something that will spur me to continue to blog about the absurdity of being a straight, knitting, skateboarding, banjo playing, lawyer father of three.

Deal?

If you’re interested, shoot me an email at tsmkblog@yahoo.com, and let me know what you would propose to make and what color Cascade 220 you would prefer to use (I have it in many, many shades). I will keep this offer open until at least August 15 – subject to extension or early close in my sole discretion.

~TSMK

On the Nature of Desire

Since man first stumbled out of caves and looked up at the night sky, he has spent much of his time in quiet contemplation, and occasionally in quite noisy contemplation, of certain irrefutable facts.

First, that there are certain things that a man wants to possess in abundance. Like comfortable briefs, natural yarn, excellent hats and odd musical instruments, one seems to never have quite enough of things in this category.

Second, that there are some things which although man thinks he might like to possess them in abundance, you really shouldn’t enjoy more than one at a time. Girlfriends and wives fall into this category, as do cigars and Cadbury Kreme-Eggs. You enjoy more than one of any of these in a single sitting, and you’re asking for trouble.

Third, that there are some things which although man thinks he might like to possess them, he should actually stay as far away as possible. Consider, for example, the image of Angelina Jolie, clad in a leather bikini and riding a fine Italian motorcycle with a knife strapped to her bare calf and a machine gun across her back. Now at first thought, this seems intriguing. She is, after all, stunningly beautiful. And provocatively dressed. And riding an object of lust in its own right. But is there any doubt that Ms. Jolie – clad in that fashion and armed to the teeth – is probably only moments away from unleashing some form of mayhem? If you had the opportunity to know her on that afternoon, is there any doubt that you would end up dead or horribly maimed? And is it really worth it? Well?  Ok, maybe that was a bad example.

Fourth, that there are some things that man simply shouldn’t possess or allow to exist. For example, at a local fairgrounds, they’re now serving deep-fried butter. Seriously. Think about that for a moment. Deep. Fried. Butter. Is there any doubt that this is a bad idea?

Most things are relatively easily placed within one of these four categories. Occasionally, you find something that overlaps two or more categories. Thankfully, one man crawled out of his cave in the late 1800s and came up with a way for the rest of us to keep track.

Recently, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about this Venn Diagram of Desirability (“VDD”). Even with this helpful device, it is hard to keep track of exactly what goes where.

Suppose, for example, you had a bunch of wool in your house. Waiting to be spun into yarn. And you didn’t really know how to spin yarn that was worth a damn. And further suppose that you learned of another cache of wool. Partly cleaned. Partly in need of cleaning. All about to be thrown out. Where, exactly, would that fit on the VDD?

Without knowing precisely where to put it (and therefore whether to rescue the wool), I consulted the stars. Or, more properly, I consulted my guide in all such matters of conscience, His Holiness, the All-knowing Echidna Who Sits at the Center of the Universe. He has a name, but it was revealed to me in confidence and so I’m not at liberty to disclose.

In any event, His Holiness explained to me that free wool fits in the upper left quadrant of the VDD. And therefore I should claim it.

Now if His Holiness would only help me get better at spinning.



~TSMK