I made a green beanie.

It's really grey here today, so no photo. Just know I made a beanie yesterday from this free pattern from this lovely shop. The hat is very, very soft. The yarn was from Suss. And I'll tell you all about it when the sun comes out.

I'd make you a drawing, but you wouldn't want that. Really. Have you seen my "drawings"? Yeah. Ok, then. A photo later on it is!

Safety is a constant battle.

You can never relax.

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting at my dining room table, minding my own business. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw something moving on the living room floor.

"That's strange," I thought.

When I turned to look closer, I saw that it was a bee.

"How did that get in here?" You won't be surprised to know that the fact that I was alone did not stop me from asking this question out loud.

I kept watching it from a distance, and the bee just kept walking along the carpet.

This reminded me of how much I love it when I see birds walking. I find it hilarious. I always imagine the bird's inner monologue to go something like: Sure, I could fly. But I'm not in a rush. I'll just walk it.

But as I watched this bee for a bit, it became clear that things were not so chill for this little guy. He was eventually just walking in circles.

Brilliant me that I am, I figured this meant he needed to get out of here. If he had his choice between walking on some weird carpet or flying out in nature? Duh. Also, I was getting nervous that he might start flying and, in a rage or panic, start stingin'.

So I tried to get him onto a piece of cardboard. But my attempt was squeamish and, therefore, half-assed (i.e., pointing the cardboard in his general direction, getting real noodly when the bee would get near it, and finally dropping the cardboard near the bee to remind me not to step there.) The fact that my Sidekick would be home within the hour may've played a part in the weakness of my efforts. What?! My Sidekick would gladly take care of the whole thing! I am too a feminist! Come on!

I put a sticky note on the cardboard in case I somehow forgot to mention it to my Sidekick, because I didn't want him to step on the guy either.

I kept an eye on the little bee the whole time. He did some walking. He did some circling. And eventually, he was done with all of that. By the time my Sidekick came home, the little bee had done all he came here to do.

It was very sad, actually, the bee dying on my living room floor. My Sidekick very sweetly scooped the little bee remains onto the cardboard and put them outside.

"He probably had a good little life," my Sidekick said.

"Yeah. Poor little guy."

"I can't believe you made a sign that said 'bee'. That's adorable."

"I didn't want you to step on him."

"Did you take a picture of it?"

"Um. Yes?"

My Sidekick is amazing for a million reasons. He's sweet. He's humane. And he knows that with the crafting as slow as it's been around here, my taking a picture of a bee and a sign that says 'bee' is absolutely the right thing to do.

Quiltie is feeling the stress

Diligence might be over-rated.

I hand-quilted two (quite giant) blocks yesterday while watching football on the TV. As a result of my rusty quilting chops, it took me the majority of the day. But! I now only have about nine giant blocks to go, out of 25 total. Not too shabby.

I won't lie. I'm proud. I'm excited. I even threw Quiltie across my bed to see if I still liked him.

And I do.

So that's good.

What's not good?

This:

See the little frayed fabric there on the left? Quiltie's coming apart at a seam. Yeah. Sad.

We've had such a rocky road, Quiltie and I, and he is prone to lashing out. But this? Really? I've been so careful with him (except for the neglect part). Coming apart at a seam. Grr.

Anyone have any ideas for a fix? Should I stick some fray check on it and make some real tiny stitches by hand to sew it back together? That's kinda all I can think of to do.

My PIC said I should just look the other way. "It never happened," she said.

My PIC is kind of a genius sometimes.

Hmm.


Hey, everybody! Great news! Quiltie's going great!!

(See what I did there? Oh, I'm good.)

Of course they did.

Photo from The Purl Bee site.

This color wheel quilt is one of the many things I've been staring at real hard in the new patchwork book. I have mixed feelings about it, and they are best expressed by the following two statements:

Ashley (and I'm paraphrasing): I want that quilt, but I don't want to have to make it.

My PIC: I also want that quilt, and I want to be able to say I made it, but there's no way in hell I'm making it.

OK. Well. I can't imagine making it either, but those enablers over at Purl are messing with my mind, man!

Look at what they've done.

They've put together bundles (or "bundules" if you'd rather) of the fabrics you'd need to make this accursed quilt, and you can just buy the whole damn thing just like that.

This photo is also from The Purl Bee site, and if you click on it, you can go straight to the page where you order them. Yes, yes. You're welcome.

You might think I'm getting kickbacks from Purl, what with my unrelenting look at this Purl thing and look at that Purl item, everybody! Nope. No kickbacks. I just do it out of love. Heartbreaking, wallet-squeezing, this-is-gonna-be-the-death-of-me love.

Starting in Japanese

Upon hearing that my PIC and I were planning to spend our Crafting Day sewing some little girl clothes from a Japanese pattern book, my PIC's sister had this to say to us:

"I'm sure you'll do a really good job, and that you won't even be able to tell you resorted to using staples and glue."

Believe me, if she hadn't been the one who brought us all that yarn from Argentina, my earrings and high-heels would've come off so fast, and it would've been on. How dare she imply we don't know what we're doing! Oh, I woulda fought her if it weren't for that yarn. (Please note: Dr. B. does not fight. Even in the face of a crafting affront. It has been said that Dr. B. keeps it classy, and classy it shall be kept. Oh. And, my PIC and I kinda don't know what we're doing.)

All that said, you can imagine how good it felt at the end of our Crafting Day to bask in the glory of our team effort: this staple-free, glue-absent toddler dress.



Holy shit, right? There's elastic in there and everything!

For a couple of sewing hacks like my PIC and me, our items were quite the spectacular achievement!

We also made pants!


There are some flaws that I am concealing here because I care for my PIC a great deal, and she would not be pleased if I aired her dirty, dirty sewing errors for all to see. You should just know there's some stuff in there that a weaker team would've stapled and/or glued.

In this process, we learned some things. We broke some things. We used some things we'd never used before. Mostly we realized we really should learn to sew. Because if we knew how to sew, the fact that the patterns were entirely in Japanese surely would not have been so painfully mind-bending.

You gotta give it to us, though. We will throw twelve obstacles in our own way and then gloat when we overcome them. Oh, we've got that bit down.

Getting reacquainted

After months and months of being apart, Quiltie and I have decided to take it slow.

Sure, we could just jump back in and pretend nothing ever happened. We could pretend that someone didn't eat someone else's carefully-made markings, and that someone else didn't ignore the relationship for months. But that would be foolish.

It's been a while, and some of us still have tender feelings. Who would I be to tell him to move on already and stop being so stand-offish, when he can't possibly trust that I'm sticking around? A quilt's gotta protect himself from possibly getting hurt again. I understand.

But in that same spirit, Quiltie doesn't have a leg to stand on if he tries "the marking-eating incident was in the past, and you can't change the past." Not one leg, mister! While you can't change the past, you still have to attend to the fact that the past has effects on the present. I am on the lookout for any sign that he might start to eat a freshly-made marking. And I am perfectly justified to do so. So don't start with me, Quiltie. Don't even start to start with me!

We've still got some tender feelings, as I mentioned. We are going to continue to take it slow.

Overheard at lunch today

My wasband and I were out at lunch today, eating delicious food and listening to the conversation behind us. (We both quite enjoy a good eavesdrop. Remind me to tell you the one about motorcycles sometime.) Anyway!

A young white dude was talking really assertively to someone across the table from him. He'd been going on for some time about himself, his career, his future plans, and in the middle of the whole thing, without missing a beat, dude says:

"Look. This is how it is. I am a songwriter-screenwriter-inventor. That's my hyphen."

My wasband and I found this particularly hilarious for about twelve reasons. Most of those reasons were related to his delivery. He said, "That's my hyphen" like everyone's got one. Like it's a given, and that's his.

The rest of the hilarious? He's a songwriter-screenwriter-inventor? Inventor of what?! What could a dude possibly be inventing in Los Angeles? I mean, come on. Really.

He went on to talk about how he needs to have his voice come through in his writing, and how he once had a dream of meeting Alan Menken and now he's having lunch with him next week, and that's how it is, man. He was that guy. (Oh! If you click on that link, the picture of Mr. Menken is SO perfect! So, so precious and so very perfect for this whole scenario! I love the internet so hard.)

Ok. So. Fine. The dude was pretty ridiculous, but he was young-ish, and whatever. It's LA.

Now is the part where I sheepishly admit that the whole "hyphen" idea stuck with us in spite of ourselves. We couldn't help it! We've kind of decided we're gonna require everyone to declare a hyphen from now on. Because everyone's got one!

I went with psychologist-crafter-blogger. We decided my wasband should go with dog lover-curmudgeon-raconteur. (While we both spontaneously said "curmudgeon", the raconteur was my idea, thank you very much.)

Hey! Should I start a "What's your hyphen" meme? No. That would be super lame.

But, you telling me your hyphen? Cool. Very, very cool. What is it?! I must know!

As a complete PS and aside: That dude would be shitting himself if he knew he'd been so promptly blogged. And by "shitting himself" I mean he'd be all, "Yeah. I invented the hyphen. So. ...Yeah."

It takes two to make a thing go right

Oh, Quiltie.
Neglected for so long. Desperately needing to be re-basted and re-marked so that hand-quilting could continue.

So, so sad. Tragic, really.

Well, it was Quiltie's lucky day yesterday. It was Craft Day with my PIC!

Teamwork.

Determination.


And encouragement were the key ingredients.

My PIC and were able to do so many things yesterday that we each had been dreading.

She needed to put a new back on a quilt-in-progress. In the short term, very depressing. It meant she had to pull out hours and hours of hand-quilting; do mind-bending math; iron, measure, and cut fabric; and re-baste all the parts of the quilt sandwich together. She also had to thread the sewing machine. You can see how doing this together was superior to doing it alone. Alone? DE-moralizing. Together? Kinda fun!

Fabric FYI aside: If you're in the market for a nice solid brown (gross!) cotton, Robert Kaufman's new color Chocolate is the best brown we've found. (I tried to link to it at Purl, but looks like it's sold out; and at RK's site, the little square is so not the color.) Trust me. It's a good brown.

We did her whole thing together, then did my whole thing. She cheered me on as I re-measured and re-marked. Her "You're almost there!" and "Just one more!" really made the difference.

The Sweet, Salty, and Nutty Trek Mix didn't hurt either.

Still stumped

Crafting Day tomorrow with my PIC should help, but I gotta tell you, this creative paralysis steeeeenks. What gives?

Someday I shall tell you of my experience seeing the Yarn Harlot. Some other day I will gush about super cool people on the internet. And, I can only hold out hope that another day -- one day soon, maybe even tomorrow -- I will regale you with tales of crafting debacles.

For now, I hope it's ok that all I've got for you is a manicure I keep jacking up. I just paid perfectly good money to have someone paint my nails, apparently for the sole purpose of helping me find every sharp edge and fuzzy fuzzball that exists in my world. Yeah. Money well-spent. I know. I know.

Sewing tips from Dr. B. and my PIC

I'm walking to get a haircut, and I call my partner-in-(crafting) crime on my cell phone. She kicks off the conversation with a serious...

PIC: Guess what I'm doing.
Me: Cleaning out your closet.
PIC: Nope.
Me: Sweeping up dog hair.
PIC: Nope.
Me: Picking up poop.
PIC: These are all things I do quite a bit. But they are not what I am doing right now. Right now, I am about to cut out a pattern!

My PIC and I have decided we are going to sew baby dresses out of the Japanese book I gave her for her birthday. As you know, My PIC and I decide we are going to do lots of things, regardless of whether or not we're qualified to do them. We are generally successful using the winning combination of tips that I sort of remember from somewhere and the "let's just do it" that she tends to live by.

PIC: How should I decide what size to make? Should I just make the middle one?
Me: I would go pull out a little dress that is about the size you want, and lay it on the options, and see which one's closest.
PIC: Hm. That's smart.
Me: And then trace that size onto the dressmaker's paper so you don't cut up the original pattern.
PIC: Right.

Blah, blah, blah. We move on to a conversation about haircuts. But then I remember!

Me: Oh! You should trace the size you want on the original pattern with a Sharpie so you can see it better through the paper.
PIC: Yeah. I'm not gonna do that.
Me: But it might get confusing as you're going--
PIC: Well, yes. It might.
Me: You're already tracing, aren't you?
PIC: Yes.
Me: So it's too late to suggest taping everything down so it won't move?
PIC: Too late!

We talk a bit more about other random things.

PIC: Tracing a straight line is hard. I wish I could use a ruler.
Me: That's probably where that tape coulda helped you.
PIC: Shut it.

I arrive at the haircutting place and have to hang up, but when I call my PIC later, she has great news.

PIC: I have traced three patterns!
Me: That's awesome!
PIC: And I have some tips.
Me: Really?
PIC: Yes, I do. They don't tell you in the instructions that it's pretty much impossible to trace a straight line if you've just had a cup of coffee.
Me: Right.
PIC: It is truly impossible. Your hand shakes too much. But I discovered that if you have a glass of wine, that solves the problem immediately!
Me: Those are very good tips!
PIC: Yes. They will be the cornerstone of the book I write about sewing.
Me: That's gonna be a really good book.
PIC: Yeah. I know.

Since my PIC still has to read the instructions every time she threads her sewing machine, I have a feeling her book on sewing isn't going to be available any time soon. That being said, I'm happy to share the gems we come up with as we go. You know. For those of you who prefer your tips on the obvious side.

Good problems to have

I've been buried under crafts.

Wait. That's not true. I haven't been buried under crafts. I've been paralyzed by the possibilities for crafting.

I'm afraid all of my stockpiling has created an overwhelming sense of confusion about what to do next.

As a response to this confusion, I've been doing what any person would do: I've been wandering around my house somewhat aimlessly, petting my fabrics...


... staring at my unfinished embroidery...


... and drooling on my books. Well, mostly just still drooling on this one:


If I'm honest, it makes me want to start a new Chevron scarf. (What?!)

Enough is enough, people! No more acquiring! No more starting something new! I'm using what I have and finishing what I start! Gosh!!

Crap. I just remembered I have a Habu Kusha Kusha kit on its way to me.

Starting after that! No more nonsense! NO! MORE!

Stocking up for winter

Oh, it's true. I am currently gathering all the goods I'll need to make it through the long, cold winter here in Los Angeles. The yarn above and the book below are just the beginning of my preparedness kit assembly.

Let me help you out with the funny here: We don't have winter in Los Angeles. Also? I think those yarns together would make a lovely Chevron scarf.

I like living in a fantasy world where seasons change and Chevron scarves get completed. Don't mind me if I just stay here for a bit. I quite like it.

Anything is possible

Wow. I have to say, I am amazed.

This morning at 8:30, my Sidekick was just about to leave for work when the little dogs began their usual business. Yipping. Yapping. Squealing, even. We froze and looked at each other with wide eyes and an anticipation I haven't felt since about Christmas of '76. What was going to happen?

After 10 seconds of the barking, it stopped.

And that was that.

No yelling. No auditioning for Annie Get Your Gun. Just silence. Long, long, peaceful silence.

"Should I yell 'thank you'?" my Sidekick asked me. We smiled with pride and disbelief and decided against it.

I guess I'm more of a cynic than I thought. I really didn't expect that situation would be resolved quite that quickly and effectively. The dogs just stopped barking, and not a peep from Broadway Steve. Not a peep! Propers all around, dudes. Way to take care of business!

This is very exciting, as it makes me wonder what other problems my Sidekick could solve with his powers.

Also? I will be among the 250 LA knitters seeing the Yarn Harlot tomorrow. If you're there and want to say hi, I'll be knitting that blasted Chevron scarf and carrying that bag that Ashley made me.

Now, about those powers...

Excuse me

In the last few months, a new family moved into the condos directly behind our house. The family -- as far as we can tell -- consists of a man and his two (or three) small dogs. We know this because every morning the two (or three) small dogs begin their day with a high-pitched and unrelenting barkfest.

Complete aside: Barkfest reminds me that I used to work with a woman who pronounced breakfast "barkfarst". Bark. Farst. She herself admitted it was ridiculous, but she said she couldn't help it.

Anyway. Let me be clear. I love dogs. Really, really love dogs. I share custody of a small dog who I love more than life itself. But two or three small, very yappy dogs going at it at 7:00 in the morning? Nope. Don't like it. You can't make me.

To make matters worse, like a rooster letting you know the day has begun, the man yells at the dogs.

Marlo! Tommy! Come! Here! Marlo! Tommy! Marlo! Marlo!!

Cock-a-doodle doo, indeed.

To be clear, my Sidekick believes one of the dogs may be named Carlos. I contend the dogs are named after Marlo Thomas, but I suppose there could be a Carlos in there, too. This, along with the intensity of the noise, makes it impossible to know whether there are two or three of them.

So, yesterday morning it was 7:15, and the whole thing starts up. The barking, the yelling. And it wakes my Sidekick and me up. We've been enduring this for months now. I was kind of hoping it would just stop.

My Sidekick, a very well-mannered and smart fellow -- a man of action, if you will -- got up, went to the window, and let out one of those really loud whistles that some people can just make. It's really loud.

And all the noise stopped. Just like that.

Amazed at the power of it, I wondered aloud about what that whistle means to people and how they interpret it. My Sidekick suggested that it places people's attention on what they are doing. I contend it's really startling, but somehow everyone (every man) knows what it means. Am I right, ladies? Whatever. It worked. And I was glad.

And then there was this morning. It was a little better in that it was 8:45, not 7:00, and we were awake and going about our morning already. But still.

Marlo! Tommy! Come! Come!! Marlo! Tommy! Marlo! Marlo!! Tommy! Tommy!!

For the love of God.

I went to my Sidekick and just stared at him. A blank stare. A hopeless stare. A why-oh-why-Lord-must-this-be-so stare.

My Sidekick shook his head, walked over the window, and sat there for about 15 seconds. Listening.

Maaaarlo! Tommyyyyy! Maaaaaaaarlo! Maaaaaaaarlo!!

Oh, it was getting worse. It was now a sing-songy, ready-to-debut-on-Broadway belting out from the diaphragm.

And then my Sidekick responded. Loud and strong, assertive yet polite, genuinely curious with just a splash of judgment:

Excuse me. Do you have to yell at the top of your lungs every morning?

Silence.

No answer. No barking. Just silence.

I was truly impressed with the whole thing. It was perfect.

Now, here's the thing. And tell me if I'm wrong. If I had said such a thing, even forcefully, it wouldn't have had the same effect. I'd be some lady being bitchy. But that brilliant intervention out of a dude's mouth? Well that, my friend, is just the truth. It is to be listened to and heeded. A person will stop to be accountable if a guy is saying something is wrong. If a woman says something is wrong, she's too sensitive.

The good news is, my Sidekick is fully aware of this, and he uses his powers for good, not evil. The other good news is, maybe that dude will take his pair or trio of dogs and figure out a different way to deal.

The best news, here's a picture of my dog. You know, just as a palate cleanser.

You can tell by the look on his face, he doesn't like those little dogs either.

Caught in a swarm of Time Flies

One year, 203 posts, and 1028 comments later, here we are. It's my one-year blogiversary, y'all.

Strange. It really has gone by very, very quickly.

I'm tempted to do a clip show - a remember this one? Or reflect on the process or something. But instead, I'll just leave it at a humble thank you.

To those of you who are kind enough to leave comments and suggestions, to those of you who lurk and come back, to those of you who make blogging a wonderful community undertaking. To you, reading this right now. Thank you.

It's been more rewarding than I'd ever expected it could be.

/earnest sentiment

(That last line? A sign I've reached serious geekiness. If it means nothing to you, just read it as "Here endeth the earnest sentiment." You know, because "endeth" is much less geeky than code.)

Bye, bye plastic bag. Hello, gorgeous!

This blogging thing is really working out.

Look at this delicious and super-glorious bag, handmade just for me by Ashley of Dogged Knits:

Oh, I own this bag. It's mine. Can you believe it?

It's got the perfect innards -- pretty blue and perfect pockets. (Pretty Blue and Perfect Pockets are best-sellers in my line of dolls for young girls. They're adorable.) This is some serious quality, dudes. Ashley is not kidding around.

And it's soft and beautiful and look at that fabric!

The best part? It was part of a swap! She asked if I'd make her a card like this one, and she offered to make me something in return.

I'd never done a swap before, and I didn't want to blow it by sending one little card in exchange for one big bag. Since it was impossible to find a currency conversion chart for handmade cards to handmade bags, we just did our best. I made her a little handful of cards featuring pigeons, and she made me the bag to replace this foolishness.

So here's the audience participation portion of this post:

At one point Ashley suggested that my Pidge for All Seasons card collection (Get Well, Congratulations, Happy Birthday, and blank inside pidge) might be reason enough to start an Etsy shop. For those with Etsy experience, what say you about this? For those of you who would buy something from Etsy, what do you think? If I started an Etsy shop, which of my things would people be interested in buying? Handmade cards? Embroidered items? Sewn things? Anything?

Discuss.

Also? Please give Ashley her well-deserved props! I lovelovelove my bag!

Tender reputations

Reputations are a complex thing. Sometimes based on thorough information, sometimes just a few incidents strung together, the reputation is a tricksy thing for sure.

Some guy you work with is always crabby and kinda mean? I'd bet that guy has a bad rep. What if it turns out dude has chronic back pain, and once that's fixed, he's perfectly lovely? You might change your mind about the guy, right?

OK. So. You could jump to conclusions about me if you simply knew that I have failed time and time again to get a handmade gift completed on time. You could. Jump away.

However! I've realized that it's not that I wait until the last minute. It's not. It's more that I tend to underestimate how long a gift is going to take to make. So, instead of calling me a procrastinator or shirker of deadlines, you might just call me a bad forecaster of the future. But then you'd be the one who'd look silly. Because who among us can tell what the future holds? Right?! OK, then.

This brings us to the top-secret item I was working on: A birthday gift for a good friend. I started working on it well in advance, and it took longer than I'd expected. More on that in a moment.

The birthday girl had once told me a story about how her grandmother and her mother, as they got older, would enter their bedrooms at night and say warmly, "Hello, bed." Like they were being reunited with a loved one. My friend thought that this -- being so pleased to collapse into bed at the end of a long day -- was a sign of aging, until she suddenly realized she'd started doing it, too. For her 40th birthday, I designed and embroidered a couple of pillowcases for her.

The pillowcases were store-bought (good thinking there), and I had originally planned on embroidering an identical set, both just like the one above. Except.

These took so much longer than I expected. So very much longer. And not just because of the do-over. That fishbone stitch or herringbone stitch, whatever it's called, takes forever. (So I'm a perfectionist. And, yes, it would go faster if I weren't. I'm aware. There's no need to yell.)

So, the second pillowcase -- made an hour before her surprise party -- looked like this:

You can even still see the outline of the embroidery hoop there, that's how fresh it was (how short on time I was) when it went into the gift-wrap. It's pretty and simple, but it also took me a very long time.

Obligatory photo apology: I managed to shoot these pictures while putting on my make-up, blow-drying my hair, and figuring out what to wear to the party. It was getting late. This was the best we could do.

Take-home lesson? You can't accuse my friend of being old, and you can't say I don't try. Because she's not, and I do. Sometimes you just have to make modifications to an original idea, that's all. (And truth be told, sometimes you have to admit you dabble a little in the perfectionism. Meh. It is what it is. Rock on!)

Note to self: Turn on the light.

Just because a project is top-secret doesn't mean you have to make it in the dark.

Me (last night, talking to myself) : Ok, so that dark purple color looks good for that squiggly part. I'll use this dark brown for the not-so-squiggly part.

La dee dah. Stitch stitch stitch. Hmmm.

Me (to Sidekick later in the evening) : I'm not very pleased with how this secret project is turning out. For some reason the two colors I've used are looking really similar. I don't like it.
Sidekick: Huh.
Me: I can't figure it out. I used a purple and a brown, and they just don't look different enough.
Sidekick: I'm sure it's fine.
Me: No. I don't like it.
Sidekick: Huh.

Me (this morning, to myself again) : Let me see what is up here. Let's put this item in the sun and get a better look. If I simply place the dark brown floss directly between the squiggly and non-squiggly parts from last night...


Holy shit. Yeah, ok. Anyone could've made the same mistake, I suppose. But the truth of it is, the two colors looked "too similar" because they were -- in fact -- "the same".

Live and learn.

Saddest part? It's about 100 degrees here today. So while I sit by a window for the good light, pulling out last night's non-squiggly work and trying to finish the item, I will also be slow-roasting. Upside? By the end of the day I should be tender-er and juicier than when the day began. So I've got that going for me.

Delicious Purl

I have a very dear friend who reads my blog, despite his having zero interest in crafting. He is a fine, fine friend indeed. Being an outsider to the crafting world, he makes observations about it that are astute and humbling.

"What I find truly fascinating," he once said to me, very sweetly, "is that the crafting movement seems to be all about hand-making things, standing up against corporate culture and consumerism, and yet..." He paused here for a moment to sheepishly chuckle, "you guys are always buying stuff!"

Yes. Yes we are. It's a puzzler.

From Purl (clockwise from left): Kacha Kacha row counter, knitting needles, bias tape maker, quilter's curved safety pins, and wool felt.

Oh, let me get you a closer look at those needles I bought.


Wait. That's not really clear. Here you go:


That shot is dedicated to my former LYS. You're welcome. (Instead of "You're welcome" I wanted to say "Peace, bitches!" but thought better of it. See how I did that? Smooth move, me!)

ANYway, let's briefly discuss the felt! It was expensive, but it is so beautiful. It has a really subtle herringbone pattern in it, and it's just great. Here's another photo of it.

Scrumptious!

Side note: Pleased with how those photos were turning out, I thought I'd give the embroidery another try in that same warm sunlight.

I'm starting to believe it just can't be done.

Oh, Irony. Is there nothing you can't do?

I have so much fabric. So, so much fabric. A shameful amount, really. I have lightweight fabrics and heavier-weight fabrics. You want whimsy in a fabric? I've got it. All class? Got that too. And yet...

I'm carrying my knitting around in a raggedy-ass plastic bag.

The affront is not just that this bag is ugly or that it makes a lot of noise when you touch it. (Like people turn to see what all the commotion is about when I take it out of my purse. It's that kind of noisy.) The real rub is that I could make myself a perfectly glorious project bag. A really, truly spectacular little tote. I've got the fabric!

And yet somehow it just doesn't happen.

So I crinkle, crankle, crunkle in waiting rooms, at the car wash, at a friend's house. I apologize for the noise and try to keep it down.

Ah ha! Maybe that's why my Chevron Scarf isn't finished!

I'm so concerned about all the noise, I don't ever reach in to grab the little guy.

My poor little scarf is trapped in a loud bag 'cuz Mama won't make a quieter one!

Does that sound like excuse-making to you in any way? No? Yeah. I thought not. It's too airtight an argument to be an excuse.

Awesome.