This is so going to be so worth it.

Howdy, kids. Long time no post. I'm sure you've gotten along fine; you certainly do look well.

My best friend is preggers. I'm pretty psyched. Nothing like more children in my life that I can love and adore without the pesky task of raising them correctly. Being Crazy Aunt Lisa is a wonderful thing; I get all the fun and zero headaches. Now, don't get me wrong; I worry about the little buggers. It's just that when Cyn is having a mom-freak-out that her teenagers are hanging with the wrong crowd, I get to be the one who actually is the wrong crowd. I have dibs on teaching all her children to swear properly and sneak out their windows without being heard throughout the house.

One very cool aspect about Cyn is her sense of nostalgia. When she wanted to learn to spin, she went for a spindle not for ease of use or portablility, but she said to me "because that was the first way to do it." She gets back to basics while maintaining thoroughly modern. She takes advantage of technologies, but is pleased and able to shun them when it is her longing to do so. I know people who couldn't get through their day without their tv, iPod, cell phone, laptop, PSP, whatever, but if Cyn were transported through time to an age before electricity, she could mesh right in, no problem. After temporal displacement wore off, of course.

This has something to do with her sense of wonder, I think. She and I agree that there are not enough mysteries left in our day-to-day lives and that has made people impatient, malcontent, and ungrateful. Twenty years ago, if you woke up in the middle of the night and for the life of you couldn't remember the name of the horse in The Never Ending Story*, well, you'd just have to deal with that until you ran into someone who would know, or ran into a video store and read the back of the box in hopes that it would be there, or wait until it came on WGN in a mid-Saturday movie to remember. Or it would come to you out of your own sense of cognition! Imagine! Now, we just check Wikipedia, and blammo, instant gratification. No patience, no communication and subtle connections formed with your friends, none of that. Just Wiki and back to bed. Something about this can't be good for you.

She doesn't want to know the gender of the new little one (whom we are simply calling Poppie). Can you picture the general madness all around her? Her mom is completely losing it, her friends are busting their seams, and she is stressed out enough with pregnancy and real life happening around her that she doesn't need this crap. She believes she will know in good enough time. She believes that this mystery will inevitably solve itself. She wants to reconnect to some of the magic of pregnancy that has maybe been stripped away by our impatience to buy pink or blue things for the baby. She is going to truly savor that moment in delivery when the doctor shouts "It's a {insert appropriate gender here}!!!" while for other mothers, that triumphant cry may only be a formality.

It's her pregnancy, her baby, her decision. I think she should run this special time in any way she sees fit. I think she has a good bit of support from her husband on this, as well, but I get the idea he'd really like to know, too. Honestly, I'm not 100% on where he stands with the whole issue of his issue, but I do know he doesn't appreciate his wife being harassed about it by friends and family. I think she should do what she wants. She is Sensible Mommy, and Sensible Mommy should always prevail when it comes to her children.

Don't get me wrong. I would love to knit for this baby. I would love to make dainty little dresses or manly little sweaters and hats; love to tease her about names and whether the Handsome and Charming nephew has a brother or sister. I'd also like to know. But once you know, you know forever, and not knowing only lasts until you know. I like the idea that we will all know soon enough. I may be the only one, but I fully support this decision she's made for her pregnancy, and revel in it. Which brings us to our final point of irony.

In a fit of "dear Lord, someone should know", Cyn had her doctor write the gender on a paper and seal it in an envelope. She thought she might be able to keep it safe until a little later in the pregnancy (she's due June 21), but temptation may get the best of her. She thought maybe give it to her husband, but as soon as he knew, she'd be able to tell what it was, as they see each other every day and know each other fairly well (tee hee). So, of all people, she is mailing it to me. Because I'm strong enough to not tell her. Because I am far enough away and not expected to be seen until after Poppie comes along. Because I support her in this. So, I'm going to do my best to not open the letter. Of course, I want to open the letter. But do I need it for my own convenience and to satisfy my own curiosity? No, not really. But the world does need more wonder. I'm throwing mine in.

What would you do?


*Artax. And in case your thought processes go the same way mine did, the Luck Dragon was Falcor.

FOs for this man are few and far between.

Doesn't Yoshi look nice in his new cardigan?

I simply couldn't watch him pretend he wasn't cold all winter again. He will go out in January (yes, possibly a whole 40 degrees chilly here) in a t-shirt and jeans and walk around outside with his hands shoved into his pockets, arms held tight at his sides, and tell me I'm not cold.
Oh, please. Whatever. Darling, you have no sleeves.


Now I'll know better. That would be a truly seamed raglan cardigan (pattern of my own devising), worked bottom up, size 7 needles, with Shadyside Farms homespun yarns in Rose Grey and Cinnamon. They may or may not be at Rhinebeck this year; I am having an issue with their calendar page. Hope you find them; I won't be getting the chance this year.

Sadly, this year there is no Rhinebeck for me. Some serious miscommunication has led me not to plan to go. Yes, I am severely pouty about the whole situation, and I am a bit embarrassed about the pouting, so let's not discuss it in depth so I don't have to feel like a very small-hearted person, mmmm-kay??

Here's what I'll be doing instead:

This mitten needs a mate. Then the happy couple needs to go find itself a new home in Connecticut, where CygKnit lives, and keep her hands warm for a winter or three.

There was some dragonfly jewelry made...

I think it still needs a good bit of tinkering before I get it to lay correctly on my neck. But you get the idea., yes? Deep red cat's eye with gold dragonfly charms and embellishments.

And then there's the swatching. The really bad, mostly ugly swatching.


That's a terrible thing to do to a ball of Silk Garden, I know, but it was misbehaving. And I feel a need for chunky lace.

New job going fine, birthday was good, all else is well. 'Kay, bye.

The wind up and the pitch

Man, I hated that insurance job.

Let me correct myself: I loved, loved, most of the people I worked with. I tried to do the best job I could with the resources I found, and a job well done is always enjoyable.

But it did not stimulate me. It did not send me home with a sense of accomplishment. Why not? It was a reasonable job, a job for adults, a job with special requirements. I gave people what they really needed. I did it with good cheer. Why did I come home every night with this lurking sense of panic and depression and a need for escape?

I tell people that it was a growed-up job and I'm not interested in being a growed-up. I tell people it was a bad fit. I tell people a lot of things.

I don't know one hundred percent why I could not do that job anymore. It may have something to do with my boss, my need for movement (I don't belong at a desk, is another thing I tell people), my liberal ideals, the more than $10,000 per year pay cut. But I could simply not be there anymore.

So, in this economy, I quit. In a town where many national chains have closed the doors on their corporate-owned restaurants and competition for servers is a total bitch, I went looking for a serving job. And I landed the first one I tried for, thanks to connections and being flippin' awesome. I start tomorrow at the one of the highest grossing restaurants in the area. It may be the only restaurant in town that is not down for it's second- and third-quarter sales this year. I'm pretty excited.

I've received worse news than finding out all I want to do is be a waitress. And this may actually be a gateway; working less hours for better money may mean I would have time to open an Etsy shop. Or go back to school. Or buy a home. Or have time to go vote, see a dentist, or get my drivers' license updated. Or buy groceries. You know, the extras in life.

Wish me luck. I'll probably be here more often now that I won't wish I was dearGodanywhere else.

So then the other thing happened

Not since April? And I'm not even interesting right now; no pictures or anything. Sorry, but I suck a little.

The job has taken a weird turn. The super nice lady who hired me has sold me into white slavery, and to her new husband, of all people. I am working furiously at a holding office for the insurance company I work for, with the plan of taking a pile of policies to his new office. And by working furiously, I mean being bored enough to want to see what happens when I pop out my own eyeballs and try to make music by plucking at my optic nerve. I hear that when the new office opens, we are going to be balls to the wall busy, but for now, I dream of string music.

Knitting? I started a cardigan for Yoshi, and totally forgot that he will not, under any circumstances, be smaller than he is. Which is 6' 3", about 250#. What was I thinking? Well, certainly not that he is one of those men who will wear nothing but miles of straight stockinette. He wears a lot of raglan-sleeved t-shirts, so when he asked for a raglan cardi, I was all over it. However, being the large man he is, I wanted something with the structure and support of seams, so I have designed a bottom-up pieced-together raglan sleeved golf cardigan in a wonderful handspun yarn I got at Rhinebeck last year. Clicky on the right side to see their etsy shop. I have about fourteen million yards of two different colors of a wool-alpaca blend I am working with, and MAN ALIVE is it ever the softest handspun I ever did work with. Unfortunately, the structure I wanted does not exist in pattern form anywhere in this dimensional plane, so I am cobbling together what I can (read: doing very bad math).

Cygknit sent me a lovely color of Patons Soy-wool Stripes, the natural violet, and I made a lacy little hat. Sadly, I cannot find the color in Florida, so she is winging another ball my way as soon as she can, so I can make matching mittens. And really, it's probably just as well I can't find more; the hat kind of makes my head look like a penis. Hey, man, you just can't pair up those colors in closely fitting headwear and not expect a phallic appearance.

Other stuff? I made a first birthday gift for my charming and handsome nephew, but since I suck and have as yet to mail it, there are no pictures yet. I've been stringing together lots of jewelry, learned to stitch beads (peyote, anyone?), and came up with a master plan to help save up for my nephew's college education. More on that if Cygknit ever has time between mommy and masters degree to set up her etsy shop. If only I had the time and wherewithal to do it for her... but I don't want to be presumptuous. All things in their time, I suppose. Like another blog post. Wonder when that'll be?

Snails are the new black

I am convinced that these little snails can and will take over the world. This is actually Snail #2, as Snail #1 never made it home from work with me. I made this one for Yoshi (you can tell by the depressing colors he chose, although it was in my stash). It matches his Xmas Stocking. Seriously, these little buggers use up leftover stash (too short to use, too long to throw out kind of stuff), are quick and easy (less than an evening of tv watching), and you can put little magnets in them if you so desire.

Free pattern here. Only thing I changed was to throw in another decrease row on the shell at row 20 and I used worsted to get a MegaSnail (ha! inch and a half tall!). And I picked up some heavy duty magnets at the craft store and put one in the body of Snail #1, so he could crawl up my cabinet at the office.

I do see a few more snails in my future; they are just too cute. And seriously, who throws out a quarter of a ball of Noro Iro when there are snails to be made?

Quickie

So, as much as insurance school was a big nap for me, my job just got a lot more interesting. Funny how having a frail grasp on what's going on can do that. It's nothing more than the fact that I know what they are talking about now. What's more, I can respond in kind. It's supernaturally weird.

And to Ms. Heather, who complimented me very nicely (thanks for that!) and wants to know what I don't like about memory wire: It makes me feel like the wire connecting my brain to my body is choking me a little. I like the look, it's smooth and even and nice, but I feel like a Frankenstein monster with a conduit around my neck that wants to self-destruct me, and dangling a heart at the center didn't help that illusion one bit. If you like memory wire, more power to you and, sister, you are welcome to it, because I don't think it is for me in a way that being battery-powered isn't for me.

Just sayin'.

How I survived the weekend

Ladies and gentlemen, I have just completed (da-dada-DAHHHHH!!) insurance school.

It was hard(ish). It was tedious. It was necessary. And now, it is over. Excepting of course the continuing education.

So, to make life a little easier, I'll show you some (crappy) pictures of some of the jewelry I designed. It really takes the edge off.

Giant wooden beads, pink-peach shells or rocks or whatever, and some little white shell beads you can't really see in this blurry little photo, but trust me, they're there. And that's the wire to the lamp in the corner; I may turn it into an uber-punk choker some day (jk).

I don't think I really like the memory wire. This pressed flower pendant was Yoshi's idea, and I like it a lot, so I may re-purpose it.

Okay, I can't do much more than lie on the couch for a while now, I learned too much about coverages and risk (that I never even knew I wanted to know) to be able to entertain you properly.