I've got your soft dreamy layers right here, pal.

The sweet UPS guy just delivered my order from Purl (which got here so fast), and it is full of glorious random items.

Sure, I'd gone to Purl to buy a magazine for a particular pattern, but while I was there, it seemed only reasonable to get some stuffing for a someday pillow, some tester sizes of the soap that people love for their handmades, and three Robert Kaufman fabrics - berry, coal, and cocoa - also for the someday pillow. Right? I don't want to make a big plane fly and a big truck drive all the way here just to hand me a magazine.

I am overwhelmed with excitement and confusion.

What will become of me and my dreamy layers?

Aaaarrghh!

Transforming traditional crafts, indeed.

My third issue of Craft magazine is mocking me.

You call yourself a crafter?

When's the last time you set some stones in a bit of twisted wire? Or made your own lip balm? Or silkscreened something?

When??

Never?

Huh.

Okay. Well, when's the last time you made some doll clothes?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

So, have you ever stuck eyeballs on anything? Like, say, a lamp?

No?

Fed up and sure I'll never say yes to anything, the magazine dispenses with the questions and just goes with a list.

Used a mold. Recycled pull tabs into art. Made a finger puppet.

Still, nothing?

My magazine shakes itself at me. (Not having a head, this is the best it can do to demonstrate its overwhelming sense of disdain.) Unable to resist, it hurls the obvious last zinger at me before slamming itself shut.

And you call yourself a crafter.

Knitscene uses wily tactics

I've made a commitment recently, and it is this: no magazines. It's very simple. Magazines instantly become pillars of shame all around my home. And I don't like shame. Shame steenks.

I don't need piles of glossy papers taunting me for not reading them, not clipping them, not living by their guidelines. I've made the mistake before (in the not-too-distant past). And you know what? When I've got magazines in my house, people come over and ask what smells. And I have to say, "Oh that? Huh! I don't know! It can't be the smell of the shame emanating from those neglected magazines, can it? Because that would just be ridiculous." And then I covertly kick a magazine or two under a couch.

So, I've made a commitment to not renew, order, or let magazines into my home. No magazines past the velvet ropes, thank you very much.

But Knitscene somehow got past my guys at the door.

I'm sure when it sidled up, my guys looked right past it. And I imagine it was quite cocky at this point. "Come on. You're not gonna let me in? I'm a Special Issue. And, I've got a Latina on my cover."


And my guys were like, "Sorry. The doctor has given us strict orders not to allow any magazines in."

Then it probably changed tactics (because it's crafty) and was all, "You know what? You look like you could use a nice bag. Check out my page 20."


"And your ears must get cold out here sometimes." And then it pointed to the hat on that same dirty page 20.


I'm sure my guys then said, "Those are very nice, but you're going to need to step back. You're not getting in."

At this point, I imagine it kinda started losing its shit a little bit, flipping the page, "Doesn't the doctor need a cute cabled hoodie for just kicking around? Look! Page 23! She'll love it!"


My guys are good. They're really good. They stayed strong. "Yes, the doctor would like a hoodie, but not when its pattern comes in the form of a full-color, 105-page magazine."

But then -- and this is just my best guess -- I'm betting the magazine really went inward, thought carefully, and unleashed:

"You like flowers, don't you?"


The killer! That did them in. I just know it. As I said, my guys are good, but no one - NO ONE - can resist these flowers. Or their free online pattern.

I'm not letting any other issues in. I swear it. So Interweave Press, creators of Knitscene, can just suck it. Suck it, IP!

(Hey also, when you come by, don't mention the smell. It's rude.)