tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-373773962024-03-07T15:20:10.466+10:30CraftastrophiesThe trials and tribulations of creation.Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-10545642727246501232015-08-21T09:23:00.002+09:302015-08-21T09:23:50.669+09:30RedirectHello!<br />
<br />If you've landed here, it's probably from clicking on a comment I left. I'm having issues commenting on blogger blogs, it won't let me do it with my wordpress account so I have to use my google account. Very annoying!<br />
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I don't blog here anymore, I'm at https://craftastrophies.wordpress.com/ now.<br />
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Thanks for dropping by, I hope you'll join me over at wordpress.<b> </b><br />
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KateKaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-17892790882430439272008-05-09T16:05:00.002+09:302008-05-09T16:09:20.616+09:30Hai! Bai!Dear blogger,<br /><br />It's not you, it's me.<br /><br />OK, I lie. It's totally you. You're passive aggressive. You are trying to cut me off from people - taking their messages but not leaving their contact details. You ar controling - you won't let me insert pictures properly and your spacing is recalcitrant.<br /><br />I think it's time we called it quits. We were better as friends, anyway. I understand if you don't want to see me for a while, but when you do, I'll be <a href="http://craftastrophies.wordpress.com/">here</a>. <br /><br />That's right. I've found someone new. Someone supportive. Someone who will let me be me. Someone I'm comfortable with.<br /><br />I hope we can stay friends.<br /><br />Love<br /><br />KateKaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-30327452668086644052008-04-16T16:14:00.002+09:302008-04-16T16:31:17.809+09:30So, as I was saying...So anyway, then I says to him, I says.... how long?!?<br /><br />Apparently I fell off the edge of the world. But now I'm back! Oh, yes. Fur sure.<br /><br />Only, I'm out of the habit, now. What do I say? Let's start with what's on my needles. <br /><br />I'm knitting a BSJ (baby surprise jacket, for those not in the know) out of yarn that is quite pink. It's going a bit slow, since it's my first time knitting it, and while it is mindless in some ways, it is complex enough that I need to keep my eye on the ball. So to speak. I think I'm close though. I've stepped that one up, since the intended recipient will be ready for in in under a month, and I was hoping to ad a pair of booties or some other charming token to the mix.<br /><br />I'm knitting another Cobblestone for my dearest papa, since the last onewas a tad snug. It's a good thing this is mindless enough for me to do without knowing that I'm even knitting, practically, since otherwise it might jus drive me MENTAL. (lord knows it's not a long trip). I'm about 5 inches away from the armpits.<br /><br />It's slowed down, though, since I started on my Central Park Hoodie. This is what joy feels like, people. Every time I pick it up, I think 'well, I'll just knit until teh next cable row.' Then I get there and think 'hmmm... I can't really see that - I'll knit a few rows until I can see it emerge.' So I do. And THEN I think 'well, I'm, only four rows away from the end of the repeat. I'll knit to that.' And then I think 'in two more rows it's another cable row! I'll just knit to that...'<br /><br />You can see where I'm going with this, can't you. I cast on exactly a week ago, and I'm about two inches away from the back armpit shaping.<br /><br />Since I am most certainly not in the mood to wrangle with blogger, here is a link to my <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7873207@N04/">flickr </a>stream. Annoying, I know, but there are some photos in there under the 'knits' set, and if you are of a mind, you can also check out all the different kinds of funny faces my sister can make. That ought to brighten your day. Or, if you're on ravelry, you can see me <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/kaviare">here</a>. While you're there, you can also search for 'jo sharp wrap jacket' and a <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/wrap-jacket">picture </a>of my sister pops up. Gave me a shock the other day, I can tell you.<br /><br />I have been reprimanded a couple times recently for my rabid queueing habits on ravelry. It got a bit obsessive, I'll grant you. I'd hunt for new exciting patterns, and queue with abandon. It gave me a rush. It filled in for knitting, which is frowned on during work hours. I got cranky when I couldn't find new patterns to queue. I would angrily scan people's queues, wailing and gnashing my teeth when I had ALREADY QUEUED every single pattern that they had. My friends got sick of waking up to a long list of 'kaviare has queued.... kaviare has queued...' They staged an intervention. I'm feeling better now.<br /><br />In all seriousness, though. I think I've run out. I have <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/people/kaviare/queue">five pages </a>of queue. That's 186 items. Every one of which I am burning to knit. You don't believe me? I've had several purges. It's a refined list. When do I think I have time to knit that, or money to buy the yarn? Clearly I'm delusional.<br /><br />Thankyou, Jess and Casey. You are the best enablers EVER.Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-52484947269517208562008-03-07T11:10:00.005+10:302008-03-07T13:50:15.059+10:30Review O'clock.<span style="font-family:arial;">Last Saturday I went to go see </span><a href="http://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/Show/Detail.aspx?p=5&id=26"><span style="font-family:arial;">'A Midsummer Night's Dream'</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> at her Majesty's Theatre, as part of the Adelaide Bank Festival of the Arts. Before I go into it, can I jsut say that I love living in Adelaide? This was a world renowned show, and I got in for $25, since I am 'Youth' (This used to mean under 24, but it has been upped to under 30. I'm not sure what that says.) Adelaide prides itself on this kind of thing, and SA likes to be called 'The Festival State'. I don't know how true that rings, but it sure beats 'City of Churches' or 'City of Roses' or 'Capital of crazy wierd murders and disappearances'</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, anyway. The show is a bit arty farty, done in a bunch of different langauges. I didn't reread it beforehand, because I have seen it performed a couple times, and also I find it really boring on the page. Partly because I don't really like any of the characters except Oberon and Puck. I mean, Dimitrius leaves whichever H-name girl (You can so tell I care, non?) is in love with him in the forest, all alone! After he attacks her! And yet I'm supposed to be glad when they get together in the end. Becuase he's under a spell. Which other people have been put under, and when it's taken off they see it as a dream. So now he's walking around, not really being himself. Which i don't care much about, because I think he's a stinker, even if he is an Ancient Greek, but then I have to think about 'what does love mean' and 'how do our emotions change us'. Which is fine, but don't expect me to look at a cast of characters living a lie and expect to get all soppy.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">ANYWAY. So, the point is, I didn't reread it. And as soon as I sat down in the theatre I thought 'shit. I don't remember a thing about the plot.' But it turns out, it didn't really matter. There was a last minute addition to our party who didn't know anythign about the plot, and he struggled, but I think if you've read a paragraph-long synopsis, you'll be fine.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">All the important plot points, and famous lines, were in the original English. Hermia, Helena, Titania and Bottom speak almost exclusively English. And, given the impenatrability of some of Shakespeare's language if you haven't read a footnoted version, I don't think it suffered that much. Some of the languages were beautiful - I'd love to know who was speaking what. It perhaps would have been better if I didn't live in a large apartment building full of people who speak other languages, many of whom are Indian. In that way, it was kind of like a usual Saturday night for me, except they weren't playing the same bollywood song over and over and over, and I wasn't trying to sleep. However, I do try and kind of treat where I live as live theatre anyway, so I guess that works out well (that might need a whole post) The night after, I made sure to pay attention to what I could hear from my flat. The Indian couple on the left were watching a Romantic Comedy. The Chinese couple on the right were watching a horror flick. Upstairs there was Bollywood music. Downstairs there swas an accordian (and much yelling of 'puta!') That's where I live.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">ANYWAAAAY. So, the language was not an issue for me, in fact I kind of liked it. I find a lot of the long impassioned speeches boring, which is one of the reasons this isnot one of my favourites. At least in another language, you could just listen to the rythms (which is half the point anyway) and there was always enough going on peripherally to give you something to look at. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">The costumes were unbelieveably gorgeous. All indain silks and bright colours and bling. Puck (who is always the high point for me) was FANTASTIC. The faries were great - hard core, you know? These were no wishy washy, tulle-wearing fantasms. These were trouble-making, mean-business faeries, the ones that English and Celtic culture used to have, before modernity diluted them. They were all male, except Peasblossom, who was totally awesome. I liked that Titania's entourage was not silly and sulky, like they're usually played. In fact, she was much more of a sympathetic character in general than I usaully find her. Much more of a faerie queen. Bottom was also fantastic. Extremely charismatic, not just a stupid buffoon, but a peasant with pretensions, someone with force, who, given the right circumstances and education, might have been Someone to Reckon With.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">The set was made up of a pit of sand (no shoes were worn throughout - my kind of performance) and the backdrop was a bamboo scaffolding. To begin with, this was covered with paper, through which teh faeries made their entrance, tumbling and clambering and screeching and laughing. So much movement and colour. The set was used extremely well - possibly my most favourite part was when teh four lovers are chasing each other - Puck is walking calmly round the action, setting up poles all around the sand. He then ran elastic bands around and around and around, to make a webby maze, through which the actors stumbled and climbed, trying to get at each other for kisses and caresses or blows. Then, when it becomes obvious that he's blinded the wrong man with the love spell, Oberon chases and hunched and sheeping Puck around the same maze. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">All the actors were extremely nimble - not only the fairies, but also teh mortals, entered and exited through teh scaffolding, at different hights, adding drama to the moonlight chase through the woods. There were also ropes and fabric from above, which were climbed and slept in. All of the actors were extremely fit and attaractive... not that I noticed... *cough*</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">All in all, it was magical experience. I once went to go see this performed in the Botanic gardens, where the fairies climbed the trees and ran amok. This had all that magic, and more. The one single downside was that the actors were perhaps <em>too</em> impassioned at times, so that you couldn't tell when they really meant something. There was no modulation. But whatever.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">If you can, I would strongly recommend you see this. I don't think you'll be disappointed. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Just read the synopsis first.</span>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-13455792517569514042008-02-26T08:11:00.016+10:302008-02-26T09:17:29.177+10:30Impressionist Sky<span style="font-family:arial;">The title has nothing to do with anything. But since I haven't posted properly for yonks, I need to do a catch-up, miscellania post, and this morning has given us a beautiful impressionist sky, with clouds that would make Monet weep.<br /><br />So, first, I got one of these:<br /><br /><br /></span><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171048840366934082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh107EtbHwIBlgi0eZ-HIgCQb1DVwx53naGB3qTs5Y6UHGunuizR_FepxLPEkDFu7jqkDxXQdqJpKfTot9TbuGYFXNc7oLwXrzRQ5bsnifpMQ8yqT9xb0-zyYuixpO1O3gYUr1h9Q/s320/Feb+5+101+cropped.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />He is a mini Rex and he is soooooooo soft. He’s also a big fat dork. He has two names – n00b, because he is, and Christopher Robin, because he goes ‘hoppity hoppity hop’, and I needed a name that was easier to explain to people over 30 than ‘n00b’. </span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Mostly I just call him 'bunny', though. Or 'bunster' or 'bunstable', or 'el bunnarino', since I'm not into that whole brevity thing.</span><br /><br /></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171037372804253618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTdI9gdAJzR3sTfwIkMO1LgthpRtP1xAohbOR-uuqC7qp3S7hDglNbeVLhkOZUcqHQAG4YBIMhjU-7gj5sb2dIAS2kza1VJfIQZpyMGRtm4ctRscuRRpT28uDilBaR78uPULtqEQ/s320/Feb+5+098.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">He </span><a href="http://www.disapprovingrabbits.com/"><span style="font-family:arial;">disapproves </span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">of my poor cleaning skills.</span></span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">He lives in my spare room, and likes to wake me up at 5:30 by ripping newspaper. He chews things. I luff him. He is indifferent to me, as long as pellets are provided. He tolerates pats but eschews cuddles. He is very hard to take photos of.</span><br /></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171038077178890178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmRKWFhhIEEEHeZOQ3d1OI8rRb3BpQYMxr5smau1o-vQsWHIFZdIJyW6Mp49jxw5DeMdO-RWOC6Ad1zFmEr9eIMm6LLu0kRZY70FbwKm1_UZ1Yiz3_KJ45tTDZh2-XAY_ngP10g/s320/Feb+5+097.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Second, I frogged this. </span></p><span style="font-family:arial;"><p align="left"><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171038502380652498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKONwkmDA6RCj1V23xEbhrv9HX_hNqYJXPQgzOLaDf8BsSgM2w-IkZFP_8wgRQ6rYm_IhQKlG2xoUxXjyG-LaCK_M4QhWIrAlJLzD19S2A9ThFiKhIknOxFNzdS0icNGzSym6jrw/s320/Feb+14+005.jpg" border="0" /><br />It is technically my first jumper. You might remember me talking about it </span><a href="http://craftastrophies.blogspot.com/2006/11/forgotten-project.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">here</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">, and </span><a href="http://craftastrophies.blogspot.com/2006/11/new-acquisitions-and-some-forgotten.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">here</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">, where I was about to proceed on knitting the sleeves. Yeah, not so much. Despite this jumper having been to China and back with me, I was reluctant to come back to it. Part of this was the fact that I had originally, with my mother’s help, attempted to adjust the pattern so it would fit me. It’s in a Katia book, and so has only one size. I was definitely a knitting n00b, going back and forth between the English and Spanish instructions, because the Spanish had centimeters. When in China, I gave up, and started knitting it to the pattern, hoping against reason that I would be able to wear it.<br /><br />Last year I decided I’d finish it, and that it would fit someone. Probably my younger sister, although I am reluctant to lavish knitwear upon her. But last week I took it out and… well… it looked… small. Tiny. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171039305539536866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJnIwe6oHIiJXzpXHxBVCFRZx5p1oHM_BxW__Uczuhm7uGlBKDDYRsDoCmMMdWuAZoBnvMscXkfstenFZlJbmF8tisJDbdHnDuQYxeRIXTqcF_NhdwX8Mb9Rwjcz2HDb7SW_Ijw/s320/Feb+14+007.jpg" border="0" /><br />That is MOST CERTAINLY never going to fit me. It might still fit my sister but I don’t even know about that. That’s not a large top. It is the opposite of large. So. Frogged. Free yarn! Hoorah!<br /><br />Some of it has since become something else, but more about that when I have pictures.<br /><br />I’ve made progress on this: </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171039812345677810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fgWhot-Z0W6XchLd1OwDQDFmJBi8ResmVIpkZN_MpqWWtoQv4wqK23kEEfU-HzTiUv2tbYX-YxTfiSM81xVnhfr4-NAL3kbVUgOs7BG-ObRFsK5P1cyNC-oh6otJ4d4NXQKLMw/s320/Feb+5+064.jpg" border="0" /><br />It’s made from the alpaca that was originally intended for Bryant’s Slipover, but didn’t turn out so good. I decided to knit the Alpaca Silk Fairy Net Blouse from some issue of IK. Except without much of the fairy net. Being more of a Faerie type of gal and not having much room in my life for fairy nets. Or useless pieces of fabric that turn a shaped garment into a boxy one. Still, I knit the lace sleeves. Several times. I just COULD NOT get a handle of the decreasing in pattern. I knit the first one once, while listening to a lecture from UC Berkeley about the French Revolution. I knit it again while watching Beauty and the Beast (don’t laugh. It’s a good movie. Well, if they took out Mrs Potts and her insufferable child. That’s a twisted relationship if ever I saw one.) I knit it once more while listening to another UC Berkeley lecture, this time about Bismark. I FINALLY got it.<br /><br />And then I lay out all the pieces. All the pieces knit in alpaca. Alpaca with no silk involved. Heavy. Hot. Short… sleeved…<br /><br />Shit.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171042019958867970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQszKvSlyAD2fr2hO95WVlynWQdsYfDifgmBkP-PS8JxekZHVAxEHN1zEun0JDXDQ1aJj6me7JGaB7kvASaBrmPBlR4u8gosLXlQ_Qj7DOAwVQjsSmSkGyUJRJaLLMJFnA2Z3Cg/s320/Feb+5+007.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">I WILL DEFEAT YOU!!!1!!111!1</span></p><p align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I’ve seamed it up the sides. I’m still dragging my heels on putting the sleeves in. Where I am going to wear a short sleeved alpaca top, I don’t know. Also, it’s kind of itchy, so I’d have to wear a reasonable top under it. It’s too girly to be a vest – picot edging, you know.<br /><br />What I do know is that it’d be a bitch to frog. That alpaca is HAIRY. Maybe I can pull it off as a vest?<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />On Saturday I went to an engagement party in a park. It turned out to be a lovely day for it, but when I left home it was overcast and blustery, so I wore my </span><a href="http://craftastrophies.blogspot.com/2007/09/fo-report.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">blue jacket</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">. Although I met them at the same time, I’m better friends with him (B) than her (R). Turns out, see, that we read all the same webcomics.<br /><br />Anyway, the first people I spoke to, after greeting, were R’s parents, who I had never met before and in fact didn’t realize were her parents until halfway through the event. I’m sharp like that. Her dad comes marching up to me and says ‘What a wonderful jacket. Did you make it yourself?’ I’m standing there wondering whether to be offended or not, when I notice his partner, R’s mother, peering at the lacework. She knits. We had a wonderful conversation about ktogs and yos. She said she just couldn’t find patterns that she liked. I suggested teh interwebs.<br /><br />About a half hour later, there was a new arrival wearing a knitted top. It was a hideous mustard colour that led me to believe that it was store-bought, but it was chunky enough to be feasibly hand knit. Mandarin collar, high waist, I’m eyeing it off distractedly as someone talks to me, wondering about construction. Out of the corner of my eye I spy R’s father marching up to the mustard-clad girl. Drifting on the breeze I hear ‘No! I bought it at Sportsgirl!’ I felt smug. Somebody slap me. </span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"> </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171042234707232786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJMTDnu0nsomtRIvkDfU356VZwb7LWQKFpTRhZSwz6sGx9eI9IwFXJNwg9KJJ8_NApI-C_npOutHC8n6KfM-KD0mMWIZk8klwEoRCxQTslvi1PYIX2GwU-ToLT99UISp9zYUCuQ/s320/2007_04160077.JPG" border="0" /></span> <p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">This is not my bunny. this is my sister's Bunny. His name is Giacomo Casanova. No joke. </span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;">Also, if you haven't seen it, you should totally check out the BBC TV series of Cassanova with David Tennant in it. </span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;">It's totally surreal and cool. And sexy. Best. Dr Who. EVER.</span></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">And to top it off, a story whose moral I have not yet decided on.<br /><br />Since I was meeting and greeting on Saturday, my weekly cleaning got left until Sunday. I hung my quilt (or doona or whatever anyone calls it) out on the line to air as usual. I’m a bit nervous about leaving it on the communal line. I’ve lost a couple of face washers, one of which might have just fallen off (since someone likes to ‘borrow’ my pegs) but the other of which was definitely taken, so I went to get it after about an hour.<br /><br />It was gone.<br /><br />It was definitely not just fallen off, etc. I looked. I stood there, disbelieving. I went back upstairs and cried for five minutes. I was already having a bad day, ok. Also, I’ve had that quilt for years (which, now that I think about it, is kind of gross) It’s like if someone had taken my teddy bear or security blanket – and then I wrote a note.<br /><br />It said ‘Whoever f*%#ed off with my quilt – BRING IT BACK’. I sneered at myself a little for doing it, but it did make me feel better. Something about registering my anger, or whatever. I pegged it to the line where my quilt had been.<br /><br />Yesterday I had to go to the shops after work. As I left my apartment, there were a couple of people hanging out their washing. As I walked back, I strategically detoured through the washing line area and…<br /><br />There was my quilt! I scooped it up and ran to my apartment. I am still undecided as to whether this is a story about the good in people or the bad. Then again, I’m a glass-not-full-enough kind of person. Make of that what you will. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171051640685611090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="322" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMshWI5nPoQsBMvIzv9AAG__T7rze3iP_OMschn4EQL0bIAYl_GufpkeO1hFsK6_tQ57fAiaE5HVhhsITGYrJPGUhuJf9xNZpyIoGsMHTx6ZAXC00gi-U1DxBM0_rvYnbrF-uIWg/s320/2007_04160046.JPG" width="240" border="0" /></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">Also not my Bunny. I hope my sister never finds this blog, or I'm in Trouble.</span></p>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-46247032851569790832008-02-13T09:42:00.000+10:302008-02-13T11:19:55.163+10:30Joyful SorrowI try not to talk too much politics on this blog, since it's often alienating, even to people who might agree with me. However, I feel like this is the day to break that tradition, if only so I will have some personal record of it. Wanky as it is, I do feel like this is a day that History Happened.<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166252878020757282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLWRmnKaTwccYfZBa7svuwf1XIWpoXu5wYt_yvr8IfKk8RdnJnQVwB398p_PJGYBZfyUouLnADIkZLibTTj7r9NbL1iA4FX6c1SjkrEvw7b-oRR4JfaDJsKCks0AEH1jrSIBYfGg/s320/Copy+of+Oct+1+Walk+024.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />I just came from watching the parliamentary apology. My first reaction, right this moment, is this: Fucking Brendon Nelson, get your head out of your Arse and at least pretend to be gracious. I mean it. I mean all those swear words (something else I try to keep off of the blog) All of them. I thought my years of being ashamed to be an Australian every time I saw a politician on my screen were over. Not so. I don't think I could have cringed any more. After Rudd's speech which, ok, was not perfect in delivery but was at least heartfelt, Nelson's piss-weak excuse for an apology was deeply painful. </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166254316834801506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfH2JYOCwR9l01PWl2X2j9t9doCFdOeGq42Q3X4U4uHdBp-Sm1tO-bWLX_hQDs4h-iX-wugL5rNrJdbLlfrftxjZZjHclwxmvrn65RrIHeoTMDuxPeKg2cd6_wGrXkVUWkUn9H3Q/s320/Oct+1+Walk+066.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Let's try a metaphor here. This path - it's the way to a whole and healed nation. With me? </span></em><em><span style="font-size:85%;">OK. The gorse and broom weeds on the edges? Brendon Fucking Nelson.</span></em></p><br /><p><br />God. Way to screw up your moment in the sunshine.<br /><br />OK, now onto the petty sniping which I do so well. I enjoyed watching the benches as the speeches wore on. Julia Gillard spent the whole time looking dignified, and nodding along, looking at the back of Kevin Rudd's head as though she Believed. (For those non-Aussies, Gillard is the one who, a few years ago, called another member of parliament 'a grub'. When told by the Speaker to apologise, she said 'I apologise for any insult I may have caused to the Honourable Member. Or to grubs.' Makes me miss Keating.)<br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166253221618140978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaFJjeHpMzV-rlEf71f5FUEvrMXJjTBTr-8_fTi3FVXbhcQ9VLk5AvTdQyXkNixTPozYKq66IBWxc0Lfn6CYyG63JBo-fCnkdRXXtnUrapUNjEf8mRdvdycS2Z-iVIX6w7tUeIGw/s320/Copy+of+Oct+1+Walk+026.jpg" border="0" /><br />On the Labor side, most of the White, Middle Aged Men looked varying degrees of bored or glum. Maybe they were going for gravity. I think they missed. Except, of course, for Peter Garret.<br /><br />That's right, for those of you who live overseas or haven't been paying attention, our Minister for the Environment used to be the lead singer of Midnight Oil. I saw him speak at my left-wing uni one time. The guy who used to run around with dreads and bare feet came dressed up like a Quoll, and tried to dump a bucket of barkchips over Garret's head, shouting 'What about the Tasmanian Forests, Peter? What about the Forests?!?!' while the security guards chased him round and round the food court. Good times.<br /><br />Anyway. Garret was on the edge of his seat, looking tense and excited. The women, of whom there are a fair few scattered along the back benches, were more interesting. I am going to show my ignorance now, since I know none of their names, and I can't look them up since none of them look anything like their official pictures. My only excuse is the Howard years - I just couldn't stand to pay attention anymore. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166256026231785362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wqqcmfyIR4V3s1PaM7vlMKEGoR1RWAvClq_uMNk6zmi1go_PfFWDtyMvVyXrgftbU7KKnxvqHU4foalo_IOfd0ctjS2cvvItfscU1QJvrcakxwYu4vT1JXZ5yHCBr5YFHgThGg/s320/Oct+1+Walk+149.jpg" border="0" /><br />The woman directly behind Rudd, along with a few others, were weepy. The woman behind her was engaged and dignified, except for when Rudd mentioned mothers, when she did a little simper-sob thing, and looked mushy for a few minutes.<br /><br />The Liberal benches just looked bored, glum, sullen, sulky. When Nelson got up to speak (boo, hiss) the contrast of Julia Bishop sitting behind him to Gillard was interesting. I actually had to ask someone to check that she was not, in fact, Camilla Parker-Bowles. She looked either glum or sneery throughout.<br /><br />There were shots of past prime ministers - Keating next to Hawke, Hawke next to Whitlam (interspersed with wives). Keating looked OLD, which made me feel old, likewise. Those were the days. I was in primary school, we had a prime minister who had worked for a living, and the future was hopeful. We never dreamed of Howard.<br /><br />During Nelson's speech, we got a shot of Hawke and Gough. Hawke looked like he needed a drink (badump, cha), and Gough was leaning forward, looking appaled, like he just couldn't tell where that horrible smell was coming from. I know. It was from Nelson.<br /><br />Apparently people on the lawns outside stood and turned their backs on both Parliament house and the screens showing Nelson's snivelling face, bringing back memories of the time Howard was similarly snubbed. My reliable sources tell me that Elder park, here in Adelaide, saw similar disapproval. At work, we fired up the TV screen and there were 6 or so of us early birds, and the heckling was intense. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166254647547283314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfutk3Zoakwmjp9kVyMkw2A5T3NcmBIeAZfLisiqoEC_Wj_hAzhR_aOJpjtHpdoFJ0nkmHin-paLkQwGWP6iJLVXgfn9qoPzBzXBFXNz6j1GcUPj6-eopTAauzOkBTcL8TPhavA/s320/Oct+1+Walk+101.jpg" border="0" /><br />I am just so ashamed. Rudds speech was compasionate, heartfelt, sincere. It was full of feeling, without being sentimental. Nelson, on the other hand, was sickly and sentimental, and seemed to undo, step by step, Rudd's good words.<br /><br />OK, so Rudd did not deliver the speech with the same vim that you could imagine someone like Keating doing it. He's no Barak Obama. But as he got going, I got caught up in his words, in the story he was telling of my country. It was one filled with real people, with lives, and real pain. </p><p>I hope you won't think I'm being overly dramatic if I say that it was the first time in my entire life that I have heard a Prime Minister of my country describe it in a way that I recognise. Rudd spoke about my reality - a reality in bad things happened, and need to be addressed. A reality in which ignoring other people's pain is not only morally wrong, but also counter productive. A reality in which, if we can't acknowledge these wrongs, we must keep feeling ashamed of them. Only when things start to change, can we be, as Nelson claimed we already are, free of the guilt of our prosperity at the expense of the first peoples of this land.<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166253775668922178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb09h6j5WxTNIDXkchTWr69hzAcxljslLj9tZ02dKS6Dawr4N-g_Sp1I-dbRPdLF0EBAP__tkw-G-v4Rr_Qmlxglsv52XIG_YIfgbIkYQ7DzS46jIJmx8BuSyk9PcpDSrZ8eQQ0w/s320/image101.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />But it is still a reality in which there is room for hope.<br /><br />For me, it was a very hopeful speech. I could see a glimpse of a future that, two years ago - heck, six months ago - would have been laughably optimistic. A future where Australians are Australians. Where we can live with our past, without feeling it as a weight. Where an aboriginal person walking down the street is no more noteworthy than someone in a headscarf, or a white woman with her child, or an Asian student with fluffy things hanging off of her mobile phone. I can't get over how you can see the members of any nation walk towards you and not blink an eye, but when a member of our first peoples is walking, everyone crosses the street.<br /><br />I was hoping to come away from this morning feeling lighter. I don't. I feel a strange mix of uplifting hope and grinding, belly-wrenching shame. I'm not sure which will win. </p><p>I expected to come away feeling good about the people in charge. I certainly didn't expect to be so incensed by Nelson - I was hoping for hope for bi-partisan movement. I'm not feeling that, now.</p><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8OoaF1UIGkIe7cbfphq7Yq66LKFOXge9qp3ZNEEUnDeYtoH9hSseh00RW8wwTuU2Wa_6Eu-sJ67RliCj5p7bdGWpA-xV-wR8HgFmCzAdotZjNcwy5aDoF8opDoBHgYBbpHmBeKQ/s1600-h/Oct+1+Walk+055.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166254114971338578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8OoaF1UIGkIe7cbfphq7Yq66LKFOXge9qp3ZNEEUnDeYtoH9hSseh00RW8wwTuU2Wa_6Eu-sJ67RliCj5p7bdGWpA-xV-wR8HgFmCzAdotZjNcwy5aDoF8opDoBHgYBbpHmBeKQ/s320/Oct+1+Walk+055.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div>All I know is, I'm hopefull. And I'm so, so, sorry.<br /><br /><div><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-45277943397787785172008-01-18T15:47:00.000+10:302008-01-18T16:24:02.995+10:30KnittingOh, ravelry. How I love you. I might not be able to get away with actually knitting at work, but a few quick peeks at ravelry, and I might as well be.<br /><br />Looking on ravelry and listening to <a href="http://www.stashandburn.com/">Stash and Burn</a> has been fuelling my knitting fantasies. My queue on Ravelry is nothing. nothing! This week I have regularly worked myself up into a frenzy, in which it seems not only desirable, but also sensible and necessary, to knit an aran weight tshirt. For an Australian climate.<br /><br />But some things have stuck. Like <a href="http://www.berroco.com/exclusives/tempest/tempest.html">Tempest.</a> Do you think that would look ridiculous? I almost don't care. I want it. And <a href="http://www.berroco.com/exclusives/milicent/milicent.html">Milicent,</a> I want badly. Badly. Except sans sparkles.<br /><br />I also want to knit baby things for my friend who is pregnant, but not in baby colours. They're all so blah. I am going to get some white baby wool and attempt to dye it using Jelly crystals. If it works, I might try other yarns. If you look on my ravelry page, you'll notice that most of my knits are in Bendigo Mills yarn. This is because it is good, and it is cheap. It enables me to knit the things I want without breaking the bank. Yes, luxury yarn is wonderful, and there are some things in my knitting queue (in my head, not in Ravelry) that will requre spun silk and kid mohair. But for your everyday jumper or jacket, I am not willing to spend $200. And then knit it. And then, it's not quite right. The only bad thing is that their colours are limited, and sometimes a little boring. And acid dyes are scary and complicated.<br /><br />Speaking of luxury yarns, I am thinking of knitting a wrap/stole/shawl thing for my cousin, who is getting married at the end of 2009. She's pretty sensitive, so I'm thinking pure silk. I don't know what colours though. Or what pattern. Conundrum. Perhaps I will have to buy 'victorian lace today' or something.<br /><br />Anyway, that was all extraneous. What I was really blogging for was to tell you this story.<br /><br /><br />Wednesday night was knitting group night. I left reasonably early - I was tired. While I was waiting for the bus, I was knitting on the-sock-that-would-not-die, aka the hedgerow sock. (It's a quick knit - it just kind of got pushed to the backburner during the christmas knitting madness, and hasn't recovered since. I am sooooooo close, though, so it's become my bus knitting). A young guy walked past with his very trendy-looking, pink haired girlfriend. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was watching me, and he turned and slowed. Eventually, he was standing stock still. He stood there so long that I had to look up - he was watching my hands.<br /><br />'What are you making?' he asked. American accent. He mimed knitting as he asked - maybe he thought I couldn't hear over my iPod. I was only listening to Cast On, Brenda's voice is nice and quiet.<br /><br />'A sock.'<br /><br />'A sock! Awesome!' He seemed genuinely pumped. He shot me a double handed thumbs up, and kept walking. The woman on the next bench and I shared a grin.<br /><br /><br />I do not generally enjoy encounters over my knitting, unless you are a knitter or crafter yourself, so we cna engage in an actual conversation. I don't really care that your granmda used to knit. Or even, really, that you've tried to knit and it just didn't take, or that you wish you had the time. I don't like talking to strangers - I don't know how to react, and my privacy always feels invaded. I always feel like they mean that I am old fashioned, or that obviously I am not as busy and important as themselves, or that they are waiting for me to offer to teach them (SO not interested. Sorry)<br /><br />But this one has made me grin every time I think about it.<br /><br />A sock. Awesome.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156689010579723298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ex62gphaRJWTzst2qXhfz-qScENM9efd91rQtFNyJfKdSGbX60JC_cc3wTx68rNJX9-Y2mMeKd6vgnhFzUOBPKt5lTwuzKQCI2PH5hEj4z_W-SZfg0C7dVMt9CE5Ey4d4v9i6A/s320/Oct+29+001.jpg" border="0" />Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-44995338970508655812008-01-14T09:08:00.000+10:302008-01-14T11:15:36.355+10:30Lessons for a new yearOn the last post, Jessica suggested that it was time for some maths. She was right.<br /><br /><br />The 2+2 type maths is not the problem. The problem is, that I never get to that stage. I look at the yarn, I look at the pattern, and somehow my brain thinks 'it will be alright on the night'. That somehow the Gods of knitting will magic away any imperfections or problems, and everything will be coming up roses. When you start with the wrong yarn on the wrong needles, well... you do the maths.<br /><br /><br />After writing the last post (and, dudes, I think Norah Gaughan commented on my blog. Dooooooooods. I haven't been that excited since Franklin Habit replied to a message I sent him on Ravelry. I think I might be pathetic) I thought about it. I realised I sounded whiny in my head. I didn't mean to. I meant to share my frustration at things not working out, but since the reason they didn't work out was my own carelessness, I guess it came out more petulant than I liked.<br /><br /><br />I went home. I looked at my projects. At the projects I had knit on so much that I had actually worn down the fingerprint on my left index finger (fingers are hard to photograph, fyi) and given myself a blister where the needle rests on my right hand. I took a deep breath. I frogged them. Both of them.<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155124877979800450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyv2RjTgMK4oLPDxOxB8V9QcSpI0HS0PtjtfQqfbdGiCDSk3CbbRrYy6fWmCxWJIM7PByRGq6RmxZrNy0FlWyZIKuWI3CC3YfaTM5f6pGvBYw6VNCspmwfYo-otacE6tuO6PIiQ/s320/December+328.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Goodbye, beautiful slip stitch</span></p><p align="left">I fully intend to go back. I will order 5 ply yarn from good old Bendigo for the slipover, which does give me more colour choices. It won't be alpaca, but in case I hadn't noticed, I live in Australia. Cold is not that big an issue. I looked up the prices of Rowan Calmer and, I'm sorry. I am not paying $20 a ball for a 10 ball jumper. It's not happening. But Jo Sharp does a part microfibre cotton that is about $7 a ball. That's do-able. I have a leftover half ball from a previous project, and I did a nice fat swatch in it. Gauge I have got.</p><br />Then, as the yarn sat, malignantly, in its rewound balls, I got out all of my books and magazines, and looked for something else to make out of them.<br /><br />This part was fun.<br /><br />The cotton was a no-brainer. I had been tossing up doing one of the boleros from Jo Sharp's book - I think it's number 2? The summery one, anyways. So I cast on for that. the cotton is still a bit gapey - I really think it's not quite DK weight - but it won't matter for this.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155125767038030738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI81I8e90S0qEHuJRkpn7oWEe5g8yMxyDRKxVvlxspg2zJPipZY1NeV1ccPxpKqqBlyFlstWiFEK7PZMSP_RMeoYaN82n__fg7tKDjnh3tL6PqIGP8n1nSKCmkbXtJ2eVHR49J7A/s320/December+300.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br />I had more trouble deciding for the alpaca. Everything that was alpaca was either a thicker yarn, or a silk blend. Plus, I only have two balls of each colour. I was/am prepared to buy more, but preferably not more of both. I was looking for something small, or dual coloured. I was thinking of the <a href="http://www.interweaveknits.com/galleries/bonus/winter2007/chang.asp">Henley perfected </a>from the Winter IK. Like, maybe I could do the body one colour and the lace another colour? But, I had another yarn in mind for that. And also, it looks like 5 ply to me, even though... well, in a minute.<br /><br /><br /><br />I finally found two things I wanted to knit. One is the Lift and Separate from Big Girl Knits. I found someone on ravelry (oh, ravelry. How I love you. You are the best tool a girl could wish for, in Getting Things Right Before You Start) who has knit it in the Bendigo Alpaca. I sent her a message. She said she loves it, although it is extremely warm! So I thought I would do that with the fawn colour. If it turns out too blah, maybe I'll embroider it with something.<br /><br />For the green, I settled on the Fairy Net Blouse from <a href="http://www.interweaveknits.com/preview/2006_summer.asp">Summer 2006 </a>IK. It's alpaca silk blend, and I've only got alpaca, so it won't look the same. And I'm not doing the netty thing over the top. So basically, it's an entirely new top. But I think it'll look good. I'm halfway through the armhole shaping of the back, and I've already done the calculations to do short rows for the front, so it doesn't pull upwards. But I'm a bit worried I'll run out of yarn.<br /><br /><br /><br />See, it's knit in Blue Sky Alpaca Alpaca Silk. On the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/fairy-net-blouse">pattern</a> in ravelry, for the FNB, it says that it's DK/Sport weight, and the gauge is pretty much DK weight. Which is fantastic, because that's what I've got. And yes, I've swatched. Although I'm half a stitch per inch more. And even though my row gauge is bang on, when I got to the end of the shaping, where it's supposed to be 12", it was only just over 11. Yarn substitution. I guess I'll just have to live with a little variance.<br /><br /><br /><br />But the source of my confusion is the <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/henley-perfected">pattern profile </a>on ravelry for the Henley Perfected says unequivacally that it's sport weight. Which makes more sense to me, because the lace looks way too fine to be DK. I guess the yarn is right in between, or it depends on the needle size, or whatever.<br /><br /><br /><br />Anyway, now I'm a bit worried about yarn, as in, will I have enough? I'm almost done the back, and almost done the first ball, too. I'm not doing the net, so I should have enough, but... still worried. Which is kind of good, since I always knit faster if I'm just not sure. I hate suspense. Still, it looks good, and the yarn is soft soft soft. I guess I could see my way clear to ordering another ball. It's just the principle of the thing, you know?<br /><br /><br /><br />In other new, <a href="http://xkcd.com/">today's xkcd </a>comic cracked me up. I, of course, googled it. <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=died+in+a+knitting+accident&rls=com.microsoft:en-au:IE-SearchBox&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&sourceid=ie7&rlz=1I7HPNW">Here </a>are the results. Padded, of course, by all the knit bloggers who loved it, too. I wonder if there are any knit blogging accidents? There will be now, I suppose.Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-8425597084095241842008-01-04T10:12:00.000+10:302008-01-04T10:28:16.282+10:30On GaugeBy which I mean 'on' as in, 'regarding'. Like, 'On the Rights of Man' or 'The Wealth of Nations'. Because 'on' as in, 'correctly using', I am not.<br /><br />So, I had yarn ordered for after christmas, so I could start on me-stuff, after the christmas rush. If you're ravelried, you can see my profile <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/kaviare">here</a>, although it's still pictureless because the photos? On my camera.<br /><br />I started the Phyllo Yoked thingy from knitting Nature, which is Love love love. It is done in Rowan Clamer, which is a 'DK to light worsted' weight yarn. The gauge is pretty much Dk wieght. The thing is. Either the cotton I'm using is really thin, or my gauge hates cotton. My gauge is massive. I went down a needle size, and it's still a bit loose. Only, I didn't have any smaller needles with me, so I plunged in. Now, second thoughts are bubbling to the surface. It's cotton. It'll stretch. It's a bit big, anyway. You'll never wear it. Aaaargh! I'll need to go home, reassess the gauge/size issues, and think about what I need to do. If I end up ripping, I'm gogint o start it again in the round. Maybe I could knit the next size up, but, like, three needle sizes down? I hate gauge issues.<br /><br />The other one is this. I started <a href="http://www.knittingdaily.com/freepatterns/pullovers/Bryants_Slipover_283-1.html">Bryant's Slipover</a>, which I have been eying off for months. (It's not actually fair isle, it's a slip stitch pattern. It's sooooo easy) It's done in Alpaca, and dammit, I wanted alpaca. So I ordered four balls of Bendigo Woolen Mills Alpaca, since that was in my price range. Except it's DK weight - 8 ply. Not 5 ply, or whatever the hell that is in American. So I've gone down a needle size, and probably should have gone down two, except the only needles I had that were that small were DPNs. For <em>socks</em>. So, the needles are small. The gauge is tight. It's alpaca. That thing is going to be WARM. It's going to be so warm, I don't know if it will be wearable. I also need to reasses the size issue on that, because the gauge is still a little off. Although given how compact the fabric is going to be, a little extra room might eb a good thing.<br /><br />So my choices with this one is this: keep going. Or, rip it, put the alpaca in the stash and do god knows what with it, and buy new yarn (in 5 ply) for the project. It won't be as nice, though. The only 5 ply yarn in my budget is bendigo, and all their 5 ply yarns are... not as nice. Not as pretty. Certainly not as... alpaca. Well, maybe I could try Elann, but then the postage will be extreme.<br /><br />Cross. That's what I am.<br /><br />Anyway, in conclusion, I hope you all had a good break (if you had one) and a fantastic whichever-celebration-you-celebrate. Mine didn't suck, and I'm happy with that. I will get my act together and resume proper blogging, with photos and everything... shortly.Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-55482346642225135722007-12-14T13:18:00.000+10:302007-12-14T16:01:47.382+10:30Merry Christmas... Fo Fo Fo...First (and noting: 'firstly' is not a word. It just isn't, OK? It's 'first' or it's nothing.) Branching out<br /><br />Blocking:<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143655760521319042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKgE76VXtm2AIMBwnV9TmObhumLNQ_JslSgaWrmYdiknX6o1-O1KNd-b5Qq97KkHOkQ63_AzVfdi5h4G9K1Z-GQksVhjtqefuwR5Pcorzn4-QfNBRtcGdvG5qMz1hnb3Xosqm8vQ/s320/Picture+002.jpg" border="0" /><br />And being modelled by yet another lovely cousin:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143656954522227346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhplc8cSN6idR0PX_c5kIV-AUyudpwXFC9dLFpqg8k-7SfH6enZSYy4V45HGmbsWHOhGYwZIgJv9oZIwOpfUut2V8qVEfp64uUkDh_bmakgrJmuyVWDV-IqKVo44saRjK7GSLNYxA/s320/Picture+005.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p>Yarn: Bendigo Woollen Mills 3 ply in Indigo. I still have almost a whole cone left. How was it? It's wool. It's nice enough. It's nothing fancy, but it's light and airy in the 3 ply (that'd be what - fingering weight? - for you yankees). I love the colour, and it was hardly splitty at all.</p><p>Pattern: <a href="http://www.knitty.com/issuespring05/PATTbranchingout.html">Branching</a> Out</p><p>Difficulty: I was a lace novice. At the start, I would knit one repeat at a time. Any time I did more, I would have to rip back, cursing. But the pattern is simple enough that I could start to see what was happening fairly quickly - I memorised the pattern... on the last repeat. Definately a good lace beginner's pattern.</p><p>That makes me think. I feel like I am so in control and in charge of my knitting. I've done lace, I'm doing cables, I know my way around the knit and purl stitch, I know several cast ons and offs, I can fix almost every mistake I make without ripping back. I can turn the heel of a sock with relatively little thought. Short rows? In my sleep.</p><p>And yet... this time last year, I was sitting in my room, knitting <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7873207@N04/1511141281/in/set-72157602239047838/">this </a>jumper. I didn't know how to m1 without <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7873207@N04/1512004072/in/set-72157602239047838/">making holes</a>. Is that nuts? I think it's nuts. It makes me feel good about how far I've come - and humble about how far there is to go.</p><p>There's always something new to learn, in knitting.</p><p><br />FO number two: Christmas ornaments by three. One for my mama, one for my sister, and one for my bff in China. I cross stiched christmas motifs on tea dyed aida cotton. The two for my mum and sister I actually stitched last year, with the thought of doing this, but never got any further. For Meg, though, I started from scratch:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143657152090722978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwY7u5aHfNHJqcTlL_NI0AHo62IdU6w2-Uq3pX-DYwAt3jaAad7zjDf_kmpoj0QCkwOpjwL3GqLjYjj2VGgrY6PJYeMSkqKZ-zXWfMmGCILneMXuA6OahHu7CuwqUtuKwABwmrdw/s320/Picture+008.jpg" border="0" /><br />I think this looks like it should be some sort of weird alien writing. But no. It is, in fact, un tannenbaum (I have no idea if that if the German word for 'one'. I'm pulling that from a special place.)<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143657989609345746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip38vSj0UiuDnGe7T_ym7Pqk7g-PzxudW-esLwzzp_hx-lIlzL89pTx2wmGjvJYGCaj1Ho1J8Vv2py_GRyCxkT2D8V5tm68bbGUIB-w3_Iqr19RQFwArV9Ja9CQ8e0Wz5r03hk9w/s320/Picture+015.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Like so. I had grand plans of doing a log cabin like square, with the stitchery in the place of a fussy cut piece of material. But I was putting it off, and putting it off, and then I got a delivery of lovely lovely felt from <a href="http://www.winterwoodtoys.com.au/">winterwood</a>. Their customer service? Excellent. They bend over backwards for me and my demanding ways. And the felt? Like butter. Lush and soft and I could just roll around in it all day. Yum. My fibre love is renewed yet again.<br /><br />So, anyway, I decided to just whizz it through the sewing machine (with green thread, which happened to be in there already. None of the ornaments are green. Nope. I'm so professional.) and stuff them.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143658702573916930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMfsfbsNEKAYCkLia3m8S_iE-XIf6Ei7ORjhbPRKENbwanvXRTAp_jW-EZ758tu-xXPersg2z1D408dstAzLdqlz8icKyff2Zyd0apnk6raXEhS4HibpdumX8H9al9Xl2kg96NA/s320/Picture+106.jpg" border="0" /><br />I think it looks lovely, if I do say so myself. Then I ruined the polished look by letting some two year old scrawl on the back:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOV5DlpLvXIs19wWcZo12g9ze96acO0x-baNRfqpVoue6bqBCsPeAnjA5DIFGU6K1DuR6M1zvRVpdGxAKEgJu8dgIPBGKDNN6uJwzLGrDTQHZL4jmYhIUDRsCNo6GEDvQfcxcVuQ/s1600-h/Picture+105.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143660124208091986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOV5DlpLvXIs19wWcZo12g9ze96acO0x-baNRfqpVoue6bqBCsPeAnjA5DIFGU6K1DuR6M1zvRVpdGxAKEgJu8dgIPBGKDNN6uJwzLGrDTQHZL4jmYhIUDRsCNo6GEDvQfcxcVuQ/s320/Picture+105.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I don't care that it looks dodgy. I love them. I hope their new owners do, too. Here is a very dodgy photo of the other two. Santa on the left for sister, santa on the right for mother.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143658874372608786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_l_x0L-7vQSbzn0EVaLFa0vFU_MeogJiuPTilwJ9jccXZg77trr-_PzEUjO8bkB12yjVTAQzn2PLdxrYEyAPxC91YVhp3g2cfK99-kjDynYYReq3L3ocwGk-XoQmD2oiw29mrRQ/s320/Picture+109.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Then I hung them on FO numero three:<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143659067646137122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIUDnfcqaZOTSNW7EEJjsv1EkInNd0IthYATjlJra6nnBIuxBCNZQEgJmU4Wm0QWBcvUEl0WmIP0gn86r_3VUmwjw28IIpQE78HJB8GUqmYLJY_wLYFuPNXLnOAcsOSBaGrYRcQ/s320/Picture+110.jpg" border="0" /></p><p> </p><p>Yes, in fact, I AM claiming my christmas tree/branch as an FO. So what about it? It might look like it's only one step up from a Charlie Brown christmas tree, it might be in a vase filled with rocks, it might look like it's about to topple. But those rocks are in fact brick chips, from the property I grew up on - they say 'home' to me. The two branches (one pine, to give that authentic smell, one she-oak, or native pine, to look pretty and be true blue) were grown on said property, and chosen by my dad especially for me. And do you see that bright yellow runner it's sitting on?</p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143657783450915522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yNxXl7QGynJPjjzFvqeIrf5oRtBAmMDkKsU3XwFTZXAjZ847AHsy3NpjV2gOW7Pzo282YJfCqJUO75kKPS8NYnsjn2mKCzFhvn0lTcURedvoha95PDnNUdIb20cts8oWHI-Ktg/s320/Picture+012.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>My mummy made it for me that dismal christmas I spent in China. It's bee-yu-ti-ful.</p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143657577292485298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKi4rS-1EMt7cWYpiKOmOsps9zmW9mXevrZutU1Ce5-pW39F2r1N29BcN_aIF2YIE-Plb4jgiyjRME9dj0QgS1tYAWyZ1N24DFVl_maG-4VJ40zRLx5nTT5km7Ry_5i8yFnG7wtA/s320/Picture+010.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>This christmas - this whole year - has been a search for meaning. My gifts are almost all handmade. The ornaments on my tree each have a story. The things that have warmed my heart have been the little things, the things that make Christmas a specail time for me, even though I am no longer a practising Catholic, even though I usually hate everything Christmas seems to stand for these days - shopping, commercialism, buying empty, plastic presents, sitting with people you don't really like pretending to be jolly.</p><p>And, because I grew up in <a href="http://www.lightsoflobethal.com.au/">Lobethal </a>(before it was commercial and toursity and the locals got fed up with it)</p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143658358976533234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9MFVz6A8ZvRSuVOX0tbDHDa26j_N7TBSD6dGIKPl1ASgDbiQwr1YtyYyDQJoTsSVCLADE3znYeCQkOjp4qnHvzTWpCFAWMA1fcZErpdQVgg2603EMZjP_0tM6At6c1HWAaYn70w/s320/Picture+068.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><em>It's not Christmas without lights</em></p><p align="left">They make me happy, from the inside out. They are warm and soft and I actually like them more than my regular overhead lights. A note to any aspiring renovators: IKEA is great. Just not for lights. Or curtains. Somet things shouldn't be scrimped on.</p><p align="left">To add to the parade of christmassy items, I started an advent calendar, <a href="http://blairpeter.typepad.com/weblog/2006/02/computer_free_f.html">a </a>la <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/wisecraft/2078270621/in/pool-561389@N24/">this one</a>. Yes, I know it's halfway through December, but I thought I would give it to my little sister for Christmas, with a promise to restock it every year with goodies. The background is a $5 blanket from the Salvos. It's just acrylic, but whatever. The rest of the materials I had (Maybe I'll use some of my felt. Maybe not). </p><p align="left"> </p><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143659522912670530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1K8jAElvVNL4HiOV6hAY9C2jlz1CLLTGI25SH-YuhUYzlsn3ryzdoP-Pc_XyqnB0MM1rwwTHv54xX9vVHEA0SNCr25-0DYikV-PRmMtBD83lPS1FJoRTA62rO775CZaSH1zx4Rg/s320/Picture+114.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="left">And the <a href="http://www.twosheep.com/helix/">DNA scarf</a> I am knitting for my dad. </p><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143659325344174898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6vYXMwqMHkXg6fvLNKP48wVp_LqxeCIHR3C7POZPzOAs-nggQqrtWpEXiFNHfME4DFDfdvVAJFt6-3__gWy3n42kPzB34B2i5r_JX5Xkotf-qMOTIGSUit1xAVc7N2MuN28SFg/s320/Picture+111.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="left">I am furtherer than this now - I'm knitting the second repeat of five on the other end. It looks great, although I think it'll need some firm blocking. I love the colour - it's hard to see, but it's sort of shimmery blue. It's called 'midnight tweed'. I'm thinking of using it to make a hemlock blanket. Or make to make myself one of these:</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisy7csnrkmSf24mWrQRIeu-wyU0xuApUizoF6QkvsmGFJjJNgd9D3l0XX29fgEiPt2jxWOsVDVDaMV3h5G6iTwgIl7fpBntpfc34chroBPieh0dK_ZAA3spBD_7QuJ3XUJldxjuA/s1600-h/Picture+086.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143660137092993890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisy7csnrkmSf24mWrQRIeu-wyU0xuApUizoF6QkvsmGFJjJNgd9D3l0XX29fgEiPt2jxWOsVDVDaMV3h5G6iTwgIl7fpBntpfc34chroBPieh0dK_ZAA3spBD_7QuJ3XUJldxjuA/s320/Picture+086.jpg" border="0" /></a> D00ds. Tkaing photos of yourself is hard. That one above was the best I could do, pitiful attempt as it is. Also: I feel stupid doing it. Well, welcome to life, I suppose. The one below is an unfortunate shot, but I need to use it to get your advice:</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWS2GB3e7vVGkOkIUz51UmlyxBna-EOwk655aHVDSsmmYA-6AIzfieBg6hZ6gi1x8lVj2jmRbh5koY8DSvuEPBtuB0UCsQvorQxKok9R6p2CbkfZ11sirWbFjTqPDfKbONpx7oTw/s1600-h/Picture+084.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143660145682928498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWS2GB3e7vVGkOkIUz51UmlyxBna-EOwk655aHVDSsmmYA-6AIzfieBg6hZ6gi1x8lVj2jmRbh5koY8DSvuEPBtuB0UCsQvorQxKok9R6p2CbkfZ11sirWbFjTqPDfKbONpx7oTw/s320/Picture+084.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Is that garter stitch line placed alright, in relation to the boobular area? Or is it weird? I definitely want to knit one for myself. I'm enamoured.</p><p>And finally, <a href="http://meangirl.blogspot.com/">Jen </a>is not feeling the love. You should go read her blog. She is funny and she knits and she has two j'adorable cats, and she takes photos of them and then tells you stuff about how she manipulated them (the photos, not that cats) which is useful and interesting. And sometimes she talks about how to choose colours that make you look good, in a really scientific way, which I respond well to (none of this 'you're an autumn' shite) and she says 'y'all', cos she's from the south. And she likes things fried. And she knits.</p><p>So go read her blog.<br /></p>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-18482622797854830372007-12-07T09:10:00.000+10:302007-12-07T13:25:12.649+10:30MehThe last few weeks have not been great. Not, you know, tragically bad or anything, just a low level of not-great-ness. We had a big thing at work on the 30th, and the two weeks leading up to it were packed. Since I'm admin, that means everything that anyone is stressed about in the whole building, ends up with us. I managed to upset a couple of people by not filtering my comments as well as I usually do. It's a bit of a running joke that I'm the bitter one around here. Most people don't realise that I hold back. A lot. And sometimes, it's just too hard, especially when people insist on making stupid comments and then looking at you, waiting for your reaction. Or come to me with the smallest thing, like I was their mum - or their brain. 'Thinking is hard. I know! Kate will think for me!'<br /><br />It's hard to hold back. But it needs to be done. Working on that.<br /><br />It doesn't help that all the straight men in my workplace (all, like, three of them) are soooooo sensitive. I suppose this is usually a good thing. Attitude adjustment: commencing.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141005409040415394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg587lXMUTJMdHr6K9xuM22zPlSPcaF4Bx_yR2RVrftHbuTYmqblWCy-K33NRLY3EUCSY6SRdvOu_6qxAmPlOYBfvwI1-uNY8vhTYtJ_8xrGXxaMfbStcw0Wo3OE8rtw7nQapZ_hQ/s320/DSCF3496.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><em>The roses. They <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/06/08/u-has-a-smell/">has a smell</a>...</em></p><p><br />I had yesterday off, as a sick day. It was fantastic. I didn't do anything the whole day. And I feel so much better. Every phone call is more pleasant, every interaction is no longer a trial, talking to people doesn't involve holding my breath and counting to ten.<br /><br />I've been feeling crowded, harried, rushed. It's not like I have a family to organise and run after, or even another person to fit myself around. Why should I be feeling so short of time, when if fact time is one of the luxuries of my life? I hate it. I hate feeling like I'm always running and never getting anywhere, never getting anything done, at work or at home. I need to look for a new job, because it's a huge part of the problem. That's scary. I hate jobsearching, and I love where I am and don't want to leave. It's also sometimes hard to see what I am good at, and where that could take me. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141024268241812162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKpwfjByv17mIyCmJqIWHT2-Gcqbl4tNvgccHyW0pd9H5YJB6UlAYo7rmjTOsq-yARF9CK16aoYSkZUfBAPcOd9FTmx2hVciBi_k_sBEfsQ6QZvzIaCCKKvK1rSXsSzhXwh87Fw/s320/DSCF3326.JPG" border="0" /><br />I was talking about this with one of my friends and she said 'I remember you being down around this time last year, too'. This gave me pause for thought. I love the holiday season, and I never for a minute thought that I could be one of those people who gets down around christmas. I realise that the general rush and panic of the season doesn't help with the harried feeling, but holiday blues? That's just not me. Only, maybe it is.<br /><br />I think it comes down to this. The year is drawing to a close. New Years doesn't really mean anything to me, but chirstmas, my birthday 4 days before, the whole season and the month of December, is a marker. Every year, I know what I was doing then. I know how I was feeling. Last year, for instance, I felt crap. I was living at home, I'd finished my honours degree, and I didn't know what the new year would hold. Turns out it was pretty good. Maybe the next one will be, too.</p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141027407862905634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbpMLbh6wJAZa5D8WKxK4TntmhPS7Il6usMTkp1TOs_vVaqJ8hbb6yuaZTIHJg4AOPUKdiaufvoCnAaTXzOjwnkJJCi979ER22Ms6uiaKZoeF4CREaup39pQnR_PzoNF6oKLpyA/s320/DSCF3458.JPG" border="0" /><br />It also gives me perspective on the year behind me. What have I done? Not much. What would I like to have done? Where did all this time fall through the cracks?<br /><br />I think working 9-5, 5 days a week, is always going to leave me a bit harried. There'll always be bad weeks. But being conscious of how I use my time, even if that is to purposefully waste it if that is what I want to do, means that at the start of another week, I don't wonder where the weekend went. At the start, or end, of a year, I don't wonder how on earth I managed to spend that much money and waste that much time. </p><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141005696803224242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-i2DzmHMAleSz22e0iR-3_X9S6rQt5Qbs4rRVdGYCzZ9Kwrjyw2LqE4tllubshfqaaPLsuj7W8MHGX1EBEUyWg6aWCqOdXZ55-omVjrZd8n3lOh17wyw0CBfalwdTq3VrzJi_g/s320/DSCF3317.JPG" border="0" /><br />Crafting is part of that. It is still, and hopefully always will be, a leisure activity for me. But it's one that not only allows me time to think and reflect while I do it, it also gives me a marker of my time at the end of it. I guess I never feel like knitting half a jumper and then frogging it is a waste of time, because I still feel like I have made progress on the project. That mistake, or one like it, was going to happen. To have made and corrected it is a step in the right direction.<br /><br />Not only that, but crafting hleps me measure my pace. I can only knit so fast. There are only so many stitches I can make in a given minute. Each second can only fit so much movement. When everything is going too fast, when I feel like I can't grab a hold of everything, like it's just too hard to plant my feet and hang on, running yarn through my fingers and watching the stitches form brings my internal clock back to where it needs to be. And at the end - a thing! That can be worn! And bragged about!<br /><br />Speaking of. Here is the requested modelled shot of my sister's wrap cardi, thanks to Claire, my cousin:<br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141025496602458850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqPCqgyFrg6I7J0RRR9xGwNE290kYkSE7pOJPNT19tNYW5Tp86KmcqE49dsCIzzJzQRATPdITLgfd6HB2jAKAMKJwwWevH3XS0w67FPPT-hMHHmFBhkph9SBU1Cp1IEv3EG-NOA/s320/DSCF3443.JPG" border="0" /> <em><span style="font-size:85%;">It was very bright.</span></em></div><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </p><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </p><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141025006976187090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVz6dhDTpn5dTKM57dCuxieaYLnQ2EIx_jsEPpxdMRV5KoilkuxYRKkF4MsMeoDUNCyrHHZ6sAxsQ0z5h3-6UnBEPqaF1B0nN5fmo4V5nWfGVKPM_gPHq_OLkLFedd7xvM8B6A4w/s320/DSCF3445.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">And the back. Do you like my use of props? </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">I find a mop in the background livens up any picture.</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="left">I've also finished Cobblestone. Here is a shot of it when it was almost finished. The light was too low and everything was blurry - this is the best photo I could get! (Check out my little crafting nook in the background. I was subletting that room, but my friend doesn't need it anymore. The little extra money will be missed, but the minute I found out I moved my sewing machine in there. I think it's a fair trade...)</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVXc1RCHICE1V6R0CWYmfjo3W3KY8cFf8sywJsFr8QVcQ2ZHsKcUmNoVSne1W-x9kGw9NzWeIZ-a6MF5CGNNatvdbexnhRuGO3V_JwFmPV6BmF0SSPal3_Qx5756JslTe1lFABg/s1600-h/DSCF3485.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141027957618719554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVXc1RCHICE1V6R0CWYmfjo3W3KY8cFf8sywJsFr8QVcQ2ZHsKcUmNoVSne1W-x9kGw9NzWeIZ-a6MF5CGNNatvdbexnhRuGO3V_JwFmPV6BmF0SSPal3_Qx5756JslTe1lFABg/s320/DSCF3485.JPG" border="0" /></a> Also, my sister doesn't know how to pose for a photo without wiggling around. You'll have to wait for after christmas for a modelled shot of the finished project, I think. Proper FO report then, too.<br /><br />I'm going to take it over to my Gma's, since she expressed an interest in making one for herself. I tried it on me, and I actually thought it looked pretty good, although the garter stitch starts strategically <em>just</em> above my nipple level. Lovely. I'm seriously considering making one for myself, though. It was a very pleasant knit, even though I grafted one of the sleeves wrong, so it's two stitches off centre. Shhh, they'll never notice if we don't tell them.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWLBx3zgdvSOWVYp2Jt1ZJcgthmAnPO8V2jAr-Of6PICu9qjmiRbgXqjNBlQq7WIKyosylrTTp3GfOkrC8bIdqZmfjPLaoyZ0jo5vxLmWYDdLztS5Z0M6jRkreSJg1Iufe92FKw/s1600-h/DSCF3466.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141027609726368562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWLBx3zgdvSOWVYp2Jt1ZJcgthmAnPO8V2jAr-Of6PICu9qjmiRbgXqjNBlQq7WIKyosylrTTp3GfOkrC8bIdqZmfjPLaoyZ0jo5vxLmWYDdLztS5Z0M6jRkreSJg1Iufe92FKw/s320/DSCF3466.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Just a gratuitous shot of my sister, being insufferably cool after her audition for the Adelaide Youth orchestra. She <em>wishes</em> she was John Lennon.<br /><br /><br />The other FO is my mittens for my bff in China, from a <a href="http://www.knittingdaily.com/freepatterns/gloves_mittens/Flip_Top_Mittens89-1.html">free pattern</a> by Debbie Bliss on <a href="http://www.knittingdaily.com/">Knitting Daily</a>. This is what happens when you knit the flappy bit according to the pattern:<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141026192387160818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zROcB2ABWXAi-oQg9F8egpfmeqVip4h0SWE1nbF06CvD20vYGiJ9bpo-fZm5DykIHVeCSp2USj5dhY0hx4WWBA9e-q28SQ7PBbx91JwmkcenK0kVFUT2t9HfCLaxev3TAZ4LEw/s320/DSCF3417.JPG" border="0" /><br />I frogged it... actually, my mum frogged it, I was too frustrated with all the unpicking of the seams this would require, and it is actually very little yarn in there. Then I knit another one. Like this:</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141026922531601154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXVlmk0KJCVEBFbI-jniIAiKF8FY3RB2vsQTlPFGNfg3XXKaluE28Fsa9rs6wQEMFmkJeg41rmZmhNOOJt4Bd7morg7_vGGav3CuxuHxCBg264aUHXRFsvtFLQWQv3nVIAWXG0w/s320/DSCF3446.JPG" border="0" /><br />And with the duplicate stitch on the top (It's less lumpy since I blocked them):<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141027193114540818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VluH-Epg-ffzD2ROL1wu3iTzFWcfaXyCQq_unEoCQ4ZroxDQqCJUzlK0HIzvoA_pAfCTTVX9yFdbqTU2nZNCK8LjzxSRg0N37qSrQPKCVwnidCN90_X4Kbd4EpeRXaRztVkmIQ/s320/DSCF3447.JPG" border="0" /><br />Schnazzy, no? I didn't have any worsted weight white yarn, so I doubled up some DK yarn, and it worked OK.<br /><br />Modifications:<br /><br /></p><ul><li>I knit the thumb in the round using magic loop until the decreases, then did the decreases flat and sewed up the tip. A little clumsy, but better than the lumpy seam I got before.</li><li>For the opening flap, I knit until 4 rows before you are supposed to BO for the flap. The I did 1 x 1 ribbingto replicate the cuff, for four rows. Then I bound off. For the top part of the flap I knit two <em>extra</em> rows, so that it would overlap and not leave a huge gaping hole, this negating the purpose of mittens as they flap in the breeze. </li></ul><p>Obviously, the left and right ones are a bit different in row count, etc. I can't tell you exactly what I did - basically, I fudged it. I think it was a success. The top is a bit lumpier than perfect, but I think it's a reasonable trade off for functional mittens. If she likes them, I might make some more. Sinc she's the only person I know currently residing in a cold climate, and I have a hankering to make <a href="http://www.elliphantom.com/herringbone_mittens.pdf">these</a>. And <a href="http://www.elliphantom.com/herringbone_mittens.pdf">these</a>. And maybe even <a href="http://www.helloyarn.com/piratemittens.htm">these</a>, although as we all know, pirates are a long-dead meme. The internet is brutal.</p><p></p><p>And I also blocked my Branching Out scarf, but the photos of that (modelled by another cousin - they come in handy) are still on my camera.</p><p>AND, I've cast on for the <a href="http://www.twosheep.com/helix/">DNA scarf</a>, which I saw on Ravelry and immediately pegged as perfect for my Dad. I cast Cobblestone off (three times. I cast off tight. Eventually I went with a ribbed cast off, which makes it a bit less neat, but since it was the only way anyone's head will ever fit through that, I'm happy with it) and had a bit of a panic, since it meant that not only did I not have a jumper on the needles, I ONLY HAD ONE PROJECT, and that was only a SOCK (hedgerows are halfway down the last foot. Slowly, slowly). So I picked up some Bendigo yarn, ordered for the purpose, and I cast on for a <em>cabled scarf</em>. I'm almost up to the end of the first cabled part, and I'm really enjoying it, although it wont be coming on the bus with me any time soon.</p><p>I should blog more often. I feel much more productive, now!</p><p> </p><p>Also: Dear Blogger, I hate you.</p>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-66283419477358858222007-11-22T08:47:00.000+10:302007-11-22T08:51:42.518+10:30Civic art I have seenAnd not photographed<br /><br /><br />On a cream brick wall, high up, spray paiunted in black: "LIBERAL PARTY = PROFITS OVER PEOPLE"<br /><br />On a footpath ramp, in green, very neatly: "<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">please don't vote john howard back in</span>"<br /><br />On the plexiglass of a bus stop, protecting the ad behind it, which depocts a toothy, blond couple riding griningly in a shiny silver BMW: "If you buy this car you will still have a small d*ck and you're [sic] woman will still be UNSATISFIED"Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-86060293028503770502007-11-21T15:46:00.000+10:302007-11-21T16:28:02.165+10:30Ennui?Still having my ass kicked. I just don't want to do anything. I have my knitting group tonight, and I don't want to go. I mean, I do want to go, and I know that if I don't, I will just sit at home and be bored. I'm just... not tired, but blah. Listen to me whinge. I have to go anyway, because I need to ask advise about picking up stitches wrapped in the purl, but picked up in the knit, since they're making funy holes in my cobblestone, which I have <em>finally</em> been able to pick up and knit on again, now the weatehr has turned a bit. It's been skirts at work for a week, and I'm loving it. Today was cooler (20 degrees c) and I still wore a skirt, but I whacked on some stockings (also, I forgot to shave. I'm so high maintenence, it's crazy!)<br /><br />Also have to go because I need to discuss the plans for the Picnic in the Park (the celebration for the end of the FEAST festival) on Sunday, and also to pick up my alpaca.<br /><br />Emma, from the group, dyes. Her colours are beautiful, although a little bit bright and too many different ones in each skein for boring old grey-scale me. But last fortnight she was there with some alpaca in light sea blues and greens, and a teeny tiny strip of lavender... it was heavan, and so, so soft! I resisted - and then on the way home I caved, I texted her and told her I wanted it. It will be waiting for me tonight.<br /><br />And ALSO, once I get there, in the company of all the lovely women who will also be there, and good food, etc, I will have a ball.<br /><br />And on the way, I will go to a chemists or the like, and pick up earplugs. Now that everyone in my apartment building is leaving their windows open, getting to sleep is like a stream-of-consciousness nightmare.<br /><br />Not that much progress on the crafting, although I am feeling the mojo come dribbling back. I was looking at Jodie's <a href="http://vintagericrac.blogspot.com/">blog</a>, and <a href="http://vintagericrac.blogspot.com/2007/11/post-91-like-woman-possessed.html">these </a>darling little hedgehogs have stolen my heart. And they speak French! And the pencilcases! With mushrooms! And skipping!<br /><br />Calming down now. (And monkeys!)<br /><br />Also, check <a href="http://www.freerice.com/index.php">this </a>out. I'm having so much fun on this site. I got up to level 48 the other day, although I sit around 44-45 usually. <br /><br />Anyway, what I am trying to say is that although I haven't made that much progress physically on the christmas crafts, I feel like whatever fug I was in has started to lift.<br /><br />Note to self: take some photos.Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-4658336060319547912007-11-14T08:26:00.000+10:302007-11-14T08:37:30.902+10:30NovemberIt's kicking my ass.<br /><br />Remember the NaKniSweMo thing? Yeah... not so much.<br /><br />I ordered the yarn on the 1st. I didn't get it for over a week. Then, it turns out I do not in fact has the correct needle size for the linen stitch part, which naturally comes first in the pattern. (who uses 6.5 mm needles these days, anyway!) Ass to this the fact that I have just gotten a new computer - one that will actually do stuff, unlike my last one. Time sucker? Definitely. And it's been hovering between 30 and 35 degrees (c) this week.<br /><br />So... I give up. I said it. I give up. It's not happening. Instead, I am officially declaring the rest of Novemebr 'finish my crafting for christmas' month. I will complete my dad's cobblestone (I'm up to the yoke) and my bff's mittens (just need duplicate stitch and sewing up). I have a bedwarmer to make for my sister and also my bff. I have three stuffed ornaments to make - for my mother, my sister and my bff. They are to have a cross-stitched motif in the middle, and I've done two already. I need to finish the third, then find some fabric.<br /><br />There's more sewing than knitting in this, which is good for the weather, really. I want to have all this done before December, becase the bff lives in China, and this will all have to be posted. It would be awesome if I could do that at the start of December, and then I can concentrate on the few presents I am giving which are not crafed. I'm getting a photo I took at my mum's place printed up big, but I have to go out to the place to decide how to get it done. Which is hard, since I don't drive. I have to buy my dad something for his birthday. If I really get all of this done before December, I might manage a pair of Charades for him, too, for Christmas. But we'll see. <br /><br />After that, I'll have baby knitting to do. I might defer my November sweater. I think I'll make May my official month o' the jumper. That's the Southern Hemisphere equivalent of November. Let's see if I can hang out that long - anyone placing bets? I wouldn't.<br /><br /><br /><br />Last weekend was a no knitting weekend. I went to a friend's (the one who will recieve teh baby knitting) to help out with a working bee, and eded up staying the night. All night I dreamt that I had made tens of pairs of socks, all out of the green yarn I'm using for my (sorely neglected) hedgerows. They were all anklets, and all had variations of fern motif lace up the back of the leg (ankle) part. And they were all. Too. Short. I dreamt, all night, of tugging them back so they would fit over my heel properly. When I woke up, I was scrunched down in the sleeping bag, so that my feet were pressed tight against the end of it.<br /><br />At least they were pretty socks. Maybe I'll knit them. Can you imagine? 'Nice socks.' 'Thanks. I saw them in a dream...'Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-89409773888585446922007-11-06T11:27:00.000+10:302007-11-06T13:57:20.726+10:30Love to knitThe place where I work has a specialty bookshop and library attatched. I love this. Even though there is a limited amount of materials that interest me in the library, the bookshop means that I can order books. I can order books that are only available internationally, or that come to Australia with a hefty price increase, I can order them without shipping, and <em>with a staff discount</em>. A decent staff discount. So far I have ordered the <em>Crafter's Compantion</em>, <em>The Ghost Map</em> (Which is really excellent, except for the two chapters at the end where he seems to need to drum you over the head with the connection between cholera and google. We get it. It's tenuous, but we get the general similarity. The more he explains it, the less viable it seems) and I have a couple more crafty books on order.<br /><br />It also means that the manager of the bookshop regularly meets with representatives of the major publishing houses and booksellers. Today she came out of her office with a book called <em><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Love-Knit-Bronwyn-Lowenthal/dp/1906094039">Love To Knit</a></em>, by Bronwyn Lowenthal. (Something else I love about my work. They know I knit. There is minimum mockage.) I leafed through the book, wondering if I'd even knit anything in the book. The answer is 'no'. The only thing I would even consider is the wrap thing on the front - and maybe the capsleeve vesty thing near the back, but it's hard to tell if it'd be OK, since it's pictured in a mustard yellow that does it no favours. <br /><br />Also, all the models are just too, too hip for me. The leggings, the stilettos, the vacant looks. It's offputting. The wierd modelling is the reason I have not, and will not, buy the 4th edition of Jo Sharp's <em>knit</em> series, even though I adore the first three. (Also, her attempt to pass of one pattern, with different length sleeves, as three different patterns, and <em>another</em> garter stitch scarf pattern. Who does she think we are?)<br /><br />But in <em>Love to Knit</em>, most of the stuff that even remotely interests me are things that I already own the patterns for, know whewre to get them for free, or for a small amount of the book's cost, and are better. For instance, there's a sort of slouchy beanie, which is just not as interesting looking as <a href="http://knitandtonic.typepad.com/leslouchrev.pdf">Le Slouch</a>. (pdf link) Also, the world does not need more knit miniskirts. It just doesn't.<br /><br />But I can see how this book might appeal to some people - people more in tune with what is supposed to be my generation, people who shop at shops where they sell chunky knitwear machine made in china, people who enjoy mustard yellow and opaque leggings. I am not trying to be rude about these people. They are just not me. This book might be especially good if they have just started to knit, and want something a bit more complex, but not intimidating. Most of these projects I think assume that the people who will knit them are not that dedicated (although all the projects call for Rowan wool, so obviously their wallet should be dedicated).<br /><br />However, the thing that broke me, the thing that made me think 'this must be blogged', is in the homewares section. Right near the end of the homewares section. It is a knit coathanger cover.<br /><br />For real? With silk roses, and everything.<br /><br />You know, some days I just want to give up and go home. Not that I am all the way against knit coathanger covers. They have their kitschy place. But what are they doing in this book? Do the publishers even know who this book is for?!? Obviously, if you knit, you must love knit coathanger covers. Why not include a pattern for a toilet seat cover?<br /><br />I remember hearing an interview with <a href="http://www.knitgrrl.com/">Shannon Oakey</a>, when she was talking about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Knitgrrl-Learn-Knit-Funky-Patterns/dp/0823026183/ref=sr_1_3/103-0005989-8263827?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1194311776&sr=1-3">knitgrrl</a>, the first. She said about how she was in a meeting with the publishers/editors, and they were all 'young girls don't wear cardigans. There should be more legwarmers!' but her mum works in a highschool, and knows what 'kids' are wearing. And when they took it to focus groups, sure enough, the kids loved the cardis, and hated the legwarmers.<br /><br />It's the <a href="http://www.yarnharlot.ca/blog/archives/2007/02/16/represent.html">muggle </a>problem all over again. Knitters are just people, you know. <br /><br />I know I said that I love my workplace for being so accepting of knitting (it's about the onlyt hing I have that makes me a minority, and being a minority is the way to be cool here) but sometimes there's a glitch. Like the time P found out that I go to a knitting group, and asked how that worked - did we all knit a bit, and then pass it on? Do we all knit the same thing? Do we talk about knitting. Well, yes. But that not... I mean, what is so hard to graps about the concept of a knitting group? How is it different than, say, a mother's group, or a group that meets to power walk through a mall, or to teach their dogs how to do tricks, or whatever? Not being able to knit doesn't make you a muggle, in my book. Not wanting to knit doesn't, either. It's this blank, unwilling to change, ignorance. Seriously, I think some of the people where we meet would deal with it better if we had a talking cat than when we knit.<br /><br />And then P asked how the group got started, and I said I didn't know, I'm fairly new, and M, my bf at work, made some flippant comment about people being retired and bored, and that I was obviously the youngest in the group. In fact, I probably am, but not by much. I'd say we have a fairly smooth curve of ages, if you know what I mean.<br /><br />I just... why with the judgy, I guess was my extremely articulate point.Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-75783247635885699602007-11-02T16:29:00.000+10:302007-11-02T16:33:44.093+10:30Measure twiceCutting not recommended.<br /><br />I've just been reading through <a href="http://www.grumperina.com/knitblog/">Grumperina's </a>archives (I'm on a get-bloglines-under-control binge) and I was reading where she's <a href="http://www.grumperina.com/knitblog/archives/2007/05/true_jeans.htm#comments">talking </a>about <a href="http://truejeans.com/jeans/">TrueJeans</a>. And how you <a href="http://truejeans.com/jeans/profile/registration">measure yourself</a>. And then they recommend jeans. One their website... they provide a <a href="http://truejeans.com/jeans/profile/cc_pop_print_instr">printable tape measure</a>.<br /><br />So.<br /><br />Cool.Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-11562769016974315512007-10-31T15:32:00.000+10:302007-10-31T16:29:23.814+10:30A belated weekend postI had a good weekend. Even though it feels like it was a million days ago, now. I went up to my folk's house and stayed the weekend, since it's my mum's birthday tomorrow. They had to pick my sister up from a music marathon they had at her school on friday night, so they swung by to pick me up on saturday morning. This had two advantages. The first was morning tea. I made <a href="http://yarnstorm.blogs.com/knitblog/">yarnstorm's </a>lemon curd <a href="http://yarnstorm.blogs.com/knitblog/2007/06/i_knew_you_were.html">cake</a>.<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127362778973812210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWIleFLPsmZ6uFgC4HU0glSZDkoEKsvXraO69ADIwSXQ0Dimzijp-h91RWI_TBhdXiRGQykj4if_2wR9iaYnPdtkCctOaEBMDHRIUqHPWdncIFfEFHh_rT8khVDEksQ_n2eabpg/s320/Oct+29+002.jpg" border="0" /><br />My mum <em>loves</em> lemon curd, and I must say that I agree. There was enough left over for a jar to gift her for her birthday. (I also got her a lamp, so that she can see when she crafts at night) The cake turned out brilliantly, although there was <em>way</em> too much butter in it – I actually blotted the cake! I’m pretty sure I didn’t read the recipe wrong or anything. (I always go to spell recipe as ‘recipie’, which I actually think is quite apt) Next time I would use 100g of almond meal instead of 50g.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127363264305116674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjpOkYDMrI0nm7Vz4jaTkxuoWPj341tHNIcFrfAurRnklNHR93M9pLoz8oeqXUg4AB5-0bSNptSPgn2YHR3tGaalqcJc1hfa3fp0ejTXL7h4qvOkK1VqnVOJR_o7SftY_UC2W0w/s320/Oct+29+006.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />The other bonus was my sister’s hilarious behaviour. She had had about a half an hours sleep that night, and about another hour in the car. So she was extremely non compos mentis. When we were leaving my place, she woke up enough to put on her seatbelt. Or so we thought. We look in the back, there she is, still sprawled over the back seat, seatbelt-less. We tell her ‘M, put your seatbelt on’. She grumbles (expected), reaches over, and unzips her schoolbag (unexpected). My mother repeats the instruction to put on her seatbelt. This is met by the grumble that usually means ‘I am!!!!’. We ask why she is looking in her bag. The reply? ‘for something to attach it too!’ said in the best teenager ‘duh’ voice. She then takes out her school jumper, wraps it around her torso as if it were a restraining belt, and goes back to sleep.<br /><br />Hilarious. We did eventually convince her to buckle up, but it took some extremely specific instructions.<br /><br /><br /><br />We made it home all in one piece, and then my mother and I set out for the Onkaparinga Quilt Fair. It was quite impressive. This was my favourite quilt. </p><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127365016651773490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrN9Qy4sN0_XsC9_W5HX10Wdv47xVVZI-fX6QnYR-3K9eGnFKUZwmU_tM83Pseli8sT-YuYPrJwV5VOAzA7llosbtVr1JvM2JJOohKmd5QMCVfMMQGN3WMsIO3oc6PMymQ4bk1_A/s320/Oct+29+011.jpg" border="0" /><br />It’s not the fanciest, or the most technical and impressive, or even the most beautiful. And there were many there that were much, much pinker (Gah! Gives my eyes a rash!). But this was the only one with sheeps. (I showed the photo to my sister, and she said ‘sheeps!’ which made my mother laugh because that was my exact reaction.)<br /><br />And this was my favourite thing there.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127364479780861474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hFvyc9uoP88hQlKwf_scNXQ8_e3o8rpBZQf2_BeABeSc4Vy37HujnY_foRukLvUHQmlSvLgF9jqQpw4AKdR7Ytgbjj5xreQ_d8Psk8i80rK7kEcLg39ySnJgPlUp8SQd0rjo9w/s320/Oct+29+010.jpg" border="0" /><br />A sampler snake. No name or anything attached.<br /><br />I had put aside some money in case there were any good fabrics or handmade items to purchase. Which there weren’t. So the next day, we headed out to the Heart of the Hills market, which runs in the old Onkaparinga Woollen Mills every weekend and public holiday.<br /><br />Most people in Australia know the name ‘Onkaparinga’. Most people my age or older will have slept under a blanket made there. It sits at one end of the town that I grew up in, and provided much of the towns income, back in the day. It was a working mill up until I was in high school, and the sound of the whistle calling people to work, and the smell of wet wool from our school excursions (not to mention the noise!), is an integral part of my childhood. Even more so, it was integral to the town. During the war, when 'Lobethal' sounded too German (It means 'valley of praise, but I'm informed by a German friend that it's terribly grammatically inaccurate) the town's name was changed to 'tweedville'. Anyone else get a kick out of that? <p>The mill is closed now, and it has served various functions in the past decade or so. It now houses a microbrewery, a gallery, and the Markets. There has recently been another mill, the Creswick mill, which deals in alpaca, set up there. I believe that they are actually working there, and not just using it as an outlet, but I may be mistaken.<br /><br />Anyway, I bought a few things there. I bought these poppies </p><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127366605789673026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrnf9_L3ndLb_ZPeShi-LNLs3pl0z3hXdVLGQmpzLf0l3qnLcy5JpxkjX828f5oL4JG6v1QpZiVybtbCP6MiOPzpduOME8KYS9FpbA63SgK8uwQWb7k8mn3yTezUeLx_Ru0YeOFQ/s320/Oct+29+019.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Two bunches for two dollars each. And they are gorgeous. (roses in the foreground from the rosebush I planted at my folks' place)<br /><br />I bought this yarn </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127367348819015250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCb9E-oawZ-5O8TkmYvzAUD7lzsL_wYCCccHbIDFMOYx8p_5BC7DxRElPblYr2DTUKL88aj7T9N6q9UD5h2o4uorZGuQnfU2dSn5wo-Y4dLZCDRvrD5q4zpjYR5HQ5v4w8vBhgVA/s320/Oct+29+020.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />From the Gumeracha Spinners and Weavers Guild stall. I’d tell you who spin it, except that the two ladies who served me <em>cut it off</em>. I tell you, they have some lovely lovely handspun, but it was a painful five minutes handing over the monay and waiting until they got organised enough to exchange it for yarn.<br /><br /><br />And I bought this in the gallery </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127368315186656866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDxZc57igBHg5gNbYKCdUmUWb4gcmWARN5Aap13ayqhTTv_pk-4lEt2xWx8E94kQ3mvzMln4XIXPrlbhH9z33sFxa_FKUMs11a6Ey55n4C1VU60Hshh3lzucb0vd0zeFYFopUMg/s320/Oct+29+022.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />For seven dollars. You might remember me talking about this picture<a href="http://craftastrophies.blogspot.com/2007/04/art-and-life.html">before</a>. I love it. Even though the colours are completely wrong. I need a frame for it.</p><p></p><p>I alsomade progress on my sock. In fact, I finished it, but I have yet to take a picture. I cast on for the next one right away, and am finished the cuff. </p><p><br /> </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127364192018052626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9ExYcEFB9lbAPhQgn1gAElBcwYx07bMf8LBgbJoYciHTGBVSBTQmRe44wnu-1sp8U5LJwUkZ4mJ7SRynn7ooGJHljwmXqswpdGMZK0GzQOI0ZIA6ajTZHY_imFYtYta2ar4Mxw/s320/Oct+29+001.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />All in all, it was a very happy weekend, and I was sorry for it to end. <p></p><p>Now, I'm off to the Chocolate Bean to eat lots of super-delicious chocolate. Oh, and to knit with my knitting buddies. That too...</p>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-57082126494055466202007-10-26T08:35:00.000+09:302007-10-26T11:13:32.183+09:30Guess what I did last night?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPhz9r7LNy14azUUz_Jgd8wqxL5SjFRUcQxNaMwDB_sKlzanhWRxBxbMZmLOdzek7fu7NhhbFyhyphenhyphen239xNdgNH7ikZc7rusc9K2WhIv8BHsKBOpcCPozs1Kx2Y9e47nw_-lrQM2Q/s1600-h/Oct+26+011.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125423433735943650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPhz9r7LNy14azUUz_Jgd8wqxL5SjFRUcQxNaMwDB_sKlzanhWRxBxbMZmLOdzek7fu7NhhbFyhyphenhyphen239xNdgNH7ikZc7rusc9K2WhIv8BHsKBOpcCPozs1Kx2Y9e47nw_-lrQM2Q/s320/Oct+26+011.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />That's right. I taught myself to crochet.<br /><br />I know it's lumpy, but it's my very first granny square, my very first piece of crochet, ever, and I love it. I knocked out another one this morning before work. I think I might be hooked (bwahahahaha.... I hate myself.)<br /><br />I've been spending the last week or so eyeing off other people's Babette blankets on Ravelry. It gives a new meaning to the word Lust. I don't just want this blanket, I <em>must have it</em>. I must have <em>several versions</em>. In my mind there's the original-style colourful one. Then there's the all-<a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/sarah1rene/babette-blanket">warm </a>or all-<a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/kniterati/babette-blanket">cool </a>colour ones, <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/leandra/babette-blanket">strong </a>colours and kilmt-<a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/octopusgrrl/babette-blanket">like </a>colours (with maybe a little extra yellow-orange through it for some kick. Maybe even <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/solveigg/babette-blanket">chocqua</a>! (links are inside Ravelry, sorry)<br /><br />Because, you know, I have all that time and money to spare.<br /><br />Like I said, I think I have a problem.<br /><br />However, I am determined to have this blanket. It will happen. Problems: Pattern, yarn, learning to crochet.<br /><br />Well, now I know how to crochet. I sat down with 'crocheting for dummies' which was wonderfully instructive and had very good pictures, with arrows and everything. I did a couple practice squares and then I was ready to go! I'm positive that being a knitter was why I picked it up so quick, since it made sense to me. I could see what I was doing, how the stitches were being made, etc. That's assuming I'm doing it right! I know I chained two when I should have chained one a couple times on my second square.<br /><br />So, Babette was my long-term impetus to learn (although I've always wanted to, it just never seemed worth all the energy, somehow) but the kicker came on Wednesday. I went over to my grandma's for dinner. Mrs B, my grandma's long-time next door neighbour, crochets. She'd made a teacosy for grandma. It was four granny squares each side, with a knitted lining. The sides are left mostly open for handle and spout, and the top is just cinched in. I couldn't see how the squares and lining were attatched - crochet border or picked up knitting - becuase the yarn was boucle. But ti doesn't matter. I'ma make me a tea cosy. With eight granny squares in blue and green. I can't wait. It will be perfect for my best-ever-pouring but boring-ugly teapot and my slow tea drinking habits.<br /><br />I also found a link on ravelry through someone's blog to NaKniSweMo - that is, national (!) Knit a Sweater Month. It's supposed to be 50,000 stitches. And I really want to knit the <a href="http://www.interweaveknits.com/galleries/bonus/fall2007/gilbert.asp">Cinnabar Sweater</a>. So bad. I don't care if the neckline is high and might make me look top-heavy(er). I don't care. And I am so not going to count the stitches, either. I'm just going to assume, and I think that that's a pretty safe assumption. Especially since I will have to be knitting my dad's Cobblestone still, I can use that to account for a low stitch count. I won't be ordering the yarn for Cinnabar until the 1st, since that's pay day. Maybe I'll be almost finished Cobblestone by then? It is to laugh, since I am going to stay with my folks this weekend for my mum's birthday, so I probably shouldn't work on it then... maybe I will, anyway. My dad is so unaware of what's going on around him sometimes, I could probably get away with it, especially if i'm just doing the sleeves, which is what I'm up to.<br /><br />I'm thinking about trying magic loop, because I'm sick of that stupid little line you get up the soel of your socks with DPNs. I'm almost finished the first hedgerow sock, which feels good, but I probably shouldn't knit the second one magic loop, since I've heard people say that their tension is different between the different techniques.<br /><br />I still can't wait to get my big projects further along, but I think this granny square thing might be the quick-finishing hit I need. Not that each square is a finished product in itself, but it sure is satisfying.<br /><br />My fingers are itching...Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-55469870258086126012007-10-23T09:47:00.001+09:302007-10-24T16:31:11.023+09:30The magic of the ordinary<div>I've been mulling over the value of handwork.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I know there's a lot of talk in blogland about the special qualities that handwork bestows. I know I personally get a lot of joy out both the process and the product (usually). But does, say, a handpieced quilt have any more intrinsic value than a store-bought one? What about if it's handpieced, but you bought it? Why is the relationship between crafting and thrifting so strong?</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Is there magic in it?</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>My conclusion is that I think there is. But it's subjective. And it's not a given.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>One hand worker can see the magic in another's hand work. It's harder to see and feel the magic if it's a craft that you don't share - I personally find scrapbooking not very thrilling, although I have seen some extremely beautiful and creative examples - I happen to think that that's the nature of the craft, that it's too commercial and often discourages rather then encourages creativity. Not always, but often.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>But where does the magic come from? What's its source? Process or product? I know many people talk of the knitting the time into their stitches - of each stitch somehow capturing the spirit and meaning of what's happening at the time. And it is true that some of the things I've made will strongly bring back glimpses of the weather, or what I was listening to or thinking about. But that is in my own head, not in the stitches.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>What about the love poured into each carefully crafted stitch? Does that mean that, if a lovingly pieced quilt will keep you warm better, that a persnickity project will leave you shivering? That a thrice-frogged yarn will hold onto its curse and make you miserable? I just don't buy it.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>No, I don't think it's the process. Although that carries its own magic, it's a magic that's firmly rooted in the present moment, that has its strength in the now, and so, by definition, can't affect the future.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>So, the product. Oftentimes a handstitched item will be 'better' quality to a store bought one. Oftentimes not. The materials used or the skills and care involved vary for both types of items. Nothing much to be gained there for my argument.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>It must, then, be some value that we place on the work that went into making the item. Obviously, today, handwork is something of a luxury. You only have to go into any quilt store, and take a look at their prices and, sometimes, their clientele, to realise that. But most of the people who do really truly creative work <em>aren't</em> people who have a lot of extra money or free time. They craft because it's <em>what they do</em>. It's an important part of who they are. It's art.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I can't remember who it is, maybe Amy Carol, but one of the contributors to a Crafter Companion wrote that she realised at some stage that she felt exactly the same doing art as doing 'craft'. I know some people have a problem with the word craft, but I don't really. It's all part of the same process - all art is based on craft, all craft can transcend and become art. It's a fuzzy and complicated process.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>After thinking it over, I have come to the conclusion that there is magic in handcrafts. In the end product. But it doesn't shine its strongest in the product itself. It shines most is <em>us</em>. In it's creators and users. Its magic is in how it changes us and the way we see it and other things.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Being a handworker makes you more aware. It makes you think about process and product. It makes you consider source, utility, worth. It gives you a new eye to look at these things with. Whereas before, a blanket is a blanket, a top is a top, those things now become the end of a long line of things.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>This top was fabric.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Before that it was thread.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Before that it was cotton.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Before that it was earth and sun and seeds and labour.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And if you have sewn it yourself, you are not just the recipient of all this work. You are a part of it. Even if it is a shirt you bought, you understand a little more.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It was reading <a href="http://yarnstorm.blogs.com/knitblog/2007/07/rain.html">this </a>post that helped me think about the way it shapes us. About how understanding your world makes you gentler and a little softer. About how working in a garden or with your hands brings you to an understanding with your world, a world that is made up of ordinary things, of bits and pieces, and helps you to find a place for all of them.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And once you see the magic in ordinary things, you understand the importance of <a href="http://yarnstorm.blogs.com/knitblog/2007/05/ginger_biscuits.html">'small pleasantnesses'</a>. I've long thought that, since I am easily irritated by trivialities, it behoves me to look for the joy that small, everyday things bring. That joy that comes so naturally to children, the wonder that we loose. In rain, in sun, in the way leaves move. In good food and company. In words.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Crafting alone will not bring this for you. Thinking alone won't, either. But when one has the luxury, the leisure, for both... A thinking crafter is a powerful thing.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124794606307970130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOXhHlMHsYyW1A-Hl04eDKQeof_kkLeONGY-asoSvG2SPLH2HKMQX2G2UcW5M0wQ_deEnEJlKw_6Of_z6XOikqSQtDEvc0fc31De697oiTBqnX7T0Rzp7G8jXWrtTI7m21Yvdaw/s320/Oct+21+078.jpg" border="0" /></div>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-63711383126654996922007-10-23T08:10:00.000+09:302007-10-23T08:31:19.498+09:30Reflections<div>It rained last night. It was raining on my way home from work. I catch the bus to and from, so that meant walking in the rain and standing in the rain.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I stepped out of the door before I realised it was actually raining - from inside it had looked like it was just drizzling (do people elsewhere say 'spitting'? Now I go to type it, it sounds gross. As is 'Is it raining?' 'No, it's only spitting'.) I stood under the verandah for aminute, debating whether to go back in side and swipe the communal umbrella for the evening.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Then I stepped out into the rain.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It was nice.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>By the time I got home I was reasonably wet - not soaking, it stopped by the time I got to the bus stop, so I wasn't standing miserably in the rain - but dripping, nonetheless. Walking to the bus stop, I watched the rain create miniature landscapes in the carpark, I let it run down my face and squeeze from the creases around my eyes like tears, I shook my head and felt the drop splatter from my hair.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Rain is the only thing Imiss in summer.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When i got home it had started again, and I made myself a sandwich and sat on my balcony, watching water cascade from the drainpipe on the top of my building, and the birds play in the wet. Then I went inside and worked on my sock.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>You know the sock I mean. This sock.</div><div> </div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124299336449199170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluCJfOudqF19PsLFTuMeJqJPvW3hhZqfA3kl8ONydhgvzIG9D0neGPdHuBdHQA1XCSVlY6BDAIVIspTkz9_Uv60TasE00oC0JpUE2soKj379HMYsVNGkKe6sG5X2zEuA9bCV7xw/s320/Oct+21+085.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div><br /><div>It now has the rest of its heel flap, a short row heel, and about half a gusset. I did have to rip back part of the gusset because I didn't read the fragging instructions properly (I know, we've talked about this) but it was only a couple rows, and I think the sock forgave me. I watched two episodes of Spicks and Specks on tape (Adam Hills is so attractive) and then I went to bed.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I dreamed about my sock. I dreamed that it was finished. And it didn't fit. The heel and toes were too long, and misshapen, the cuff was floppy. And it was also red, for some reason. I don't think I need to tell you that this was not a fun dream. It's a good thing my dream sock was red, otherwise I might have panicked.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>This morning when I got up the first thing I did was go and find my sock. I think my subconscious hates me...</div>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-27205681494603688902007-10-22T14:19:00.000+09:302007-10-22T17:17:23.525+09:30GloriousThis is what I spent most of my weekend either looking at or doing.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124019308876467010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCHuclLjO0BuVHbsRYn6qkK279vMbH5zpxmJZPVjx2HilebN9dX3b-ZhZugcsANVKKh5uKyUKckj5sbPHiswBCvR9urNpJFo4IdQDJKDfvKN2u1iiQmUxOcrjqWt_Y2t-eEZ425Q/s320/Oct+21+001.jpg" border="0" /><br />This is my teeny balcony. I'm standing right at one end, where the door is. That green wooden thing is the barrier between the neighbour's balcony and mine. At the start of the weekend, the only things on there were the front table and its contents. Cherry tomatoes and a sad little basil plant, and some Italian parsley (I hate the crinkly kind).<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_QCccouM8EB_uYVKIP7fPNqfhF6CBKQPq7UItvSHSmGRf105V8pWNdjo2piU_jt1dxdM-eLor8BIHeCo-r9hg6phwdaSYs4JGSgj77zU-sm53CzvK4xWoLmerPxIwXuNYNU0iA/s1600-h/Oct+21+070.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124052470318959474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_QCccouM8EB_uYVKIP7fPNqfhF6CBKQPq7UItvSHSmGRf105V8pWNdjo2piU_jt1dxdM-eLor8BIHeCo-r9hg6phwdaSYs4JGSgj77zU-sm53CzvK4xWoLmerPxIwXuNYNU0iA/s320/Oct+21+070.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />On Saturday, I went with my dad to Bunnings, and we bought two punnets of tomatoes (one Roma, one 99c, I have no idea what it actually is, a dwarf something, I think?) some Basil, a chilli plant, and a tonne of dirt. OK, 50 litres of dirt, but for a country girl, buying dirt just seems unnatural, you know?<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKa8AEvLd22gHffXPEOZoDThB14694ived2-6TSQ8hWgt1ALpUKhfRSGi072e4nOhxYioEpTgud4GnR-q9r2-tm45GwdtWL1NdKwb3HezCaIFkQ1OdmFHwaFogl76JZ4sswgDH5g/s1600-h/Oct+21+047.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124052178261183330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKa8AEvLd22gHffXPEOZoDThB14694ived2-6TSQ8hWgt1ALpUKhfRSGi072e4nOhxYioEpTgud4GnR-q9r2-tm45GwdtWL1NdKwb3HezCaIFkQ1OdmFHwaFogl76JZ4sswgDH5g/s320/Oct+21+047.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div>Anyway, the plan was to use a couplethree containers that my dad has at home for pots, but after we did all that running around (and it was hot on Saturday) we visited my Grandma, and she showed us a bit out the back where my aunt has stashed a whoooooole bunch of pots, and she said that we could have any of the plastic ones we wanted - I was restrained, but she kept trying to get rid of more, so I have a couple of backups, just in case.</div><div></div><div>She also bequeathed to me two of those wire chairs you see there, which are in surprisingly good condition for having had three generations of sit upons sit upon them for countless summers. Of course, they used to have that white plastic stuff covering the wire, but that's all been picked off by three generations of fingers... </div><div><br /><br /> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124051237663345490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIkTGExcD7Xf_UIdq8HVCLwafWiMDg6dtaYisUjTdyzmRP8kUgvk2-klYEsJOxveISNmtW7h1KyvaSmZymVJL6QiL_xHzgRoLBSUtYw1DkBU5G9V8v4H07qiucDRZmBqjPIoF2Q/s320/Oct+21+040.jpg" border="0" /> <div>So I filled the pots, planted the plants, watered them - voila! A garden. (I had to ask three people how to spell Voila. Just so you know the lengths I will go to for the professionalism of this blog - mwahahaahhaha, I crack me up)<br /><br />Again, being a country girl, this was astoundingly easy. It required no digging, no picking out of rocks, no creating new garden beds out of wood or, as my father was doing last time I visited home, brick.</div><div> </div><div> </div></div></div><div></div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124053513996012418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbJc3t9LOk3z9MfwTPAczMaud14ltY84mF8xZRsySlCQpTZHvosWWjcYGR2Ib3VgoE403PFYBRvvSPjm1HPnYOvdHGgZpjaBa25n_Glo6f6Tk1EjMlA3w5gey8vVC6ym6WLKihw/s320/October+1+228.jpg" border="0" /></div><div></div><br /><br /><br />However, it did require a little good old Australian know how (I always think of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Lehrer">Tom Lehrer</a> when someone uses that phrase - 'Good old American know how, as provided by Good Old Americans like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Werner_Von_Braun">Werner Von Braun</a>...') otherwise known as being scabby.<br /><br />I live in a huge block of apartments, and this week I took, from the hard-rubbish dumping area, a round table that is now my dining table (more later), a small black table that you can see in the top picture, just, and a bed head, which I propped up between said black table and a plastic container. If I leave the pots on the ground, they're too low down to get much sunlight. And also, it's nicer like this. On Sunday, I spent most of the afternoon sitting outside, like this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124058526222846882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib17aK-htwV_j6uf7vCDpiXxtZP3hNcA31fnN34sCWMLKj1_wJW59PpPgPkKJUwISqYZpFCTHZ07Ayqwtk3KC53Vz3kz3eiBWIBvx2hWbfaVhj0itsLqSjDFecinI7ENL0KFme1w/s320/Oct+21+061.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Because on a 35 degree, muggy day, what you really want to do is put a whole lot of yarn on your lap. But it cooled down in the afternoon, and even though the dropping pressure gave me a whopping headache, it was quite pleasant. Except for this dude:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124059217712581554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9245mxGoG3P7b0EgRRPR3iNcpewP6I6pIKkPJIUbJ5pAouQIB5Z-QWpB5lAEG4TiPx8R4KtDv5bVngRfZI8FtYasRilVSetIYKfg1rZO5MHjWS3vsK0HNABPn4RwWxMUUTsZmOg/s320/Oct+21+049.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Who was quite cross that I was sitting on his balcony, and almost flew into my face a couple times, which was quite alarming.<br /><br />I was reading <a href="http://yarnstorm.blogs.com/knitblog/2007/08/the-glory-of-th.html">this </a>post today, and I was thinking how, even though I love that there was so little work involved in my mini garden, it's almost an anti-climax. Where are the aching muscles and the sense of satisfaction? Apparently you don't get one without the other.<br /><br /><br />Before that, I did this:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124060939994467266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmvKVaEARgh4IYfqsTQxKOI-_4G7PbI3qtXgC4g1Pw4Yy1yPgvMv_JOWwNvmzEx712TW4s4lMndqkQQtljYgQ2oYy8N78gmLe9V76wuOCa7f3YYWmlSKFixaAUip4keA-t_-mMw/s320/Oct+21+043.jpg" border="0" /><br />FO! Because, again, on said 35 degree, muggy day, the best thing to do is to get the various pieces of a Worsted weight jacket, put them on you lap, and seam them. But it's good to have it finished! Sorry about the crappy light, but the whole day was weird and overcast and I didn't want to wait for better light, because I wanted to do this:<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124061244937145298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkdJUbRi2Mp7nOUnlsf44-Tt0MCW0lWbsaRpIchjGb_VZ4rHuX7NLuwo7a-qjb_LJK2EWkiSovGJp2SotmIJUBjjy560ojajXLWCe1GyII67t9KhhKAPB0St19XKGIeHMseYBWg/s320/Oct+21+082.jpg" border="0" /><br />And then this:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124061459685510114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigemdGT5L34RZmmMqDVlHcj5hj8shGvW-PUyszVF6jvirCyKYhYf_OS7dQ4-qjJMEJi4o92CSzAgf-FwZXCARiNw1YSjf9NZTiEESfDhlXATV0IZqwfSWd58PZrihwf-mrLnClCg/s320/Oct+21+084.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />I know you think I'm crazy early, but really. There's only 63 knitting days left until Christmas! And last week, one night when I couldn't sleep, I lay awake plotting to knit socks for way too many people. I think I have a problem. This is the same problem that convinces me that it's a good idea to take on knitting a blanket, rug, or, my latest bright idea, a towel.<br /><br />A towel. I mean, I ask you.<br /><br />However, having finished my sister's wrap jacket, and being almost up to the armholes on Cobblestone - this one is going so quick! All that stocking stitch in the round, I get an inch done every time I pick it up, feels like. And the yarn is yummy. Then I think I might have to knit a pair of socks for my dad, and I have a few other crafty presents up my sleeve which don't involve knitting and might not come to fruition. We'll see.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124062769650535474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzUpOi05u6zonpekJCRkGViHAAHS3pHkJYvUu-4lRmA1gbscO01GsSN7yIhf3tC6H7yLbHw7CfrepY4SKKvMQBj_s0y89Ib07zP9bAQaU704dDG3-H15bqsoECbCpn8qVTWfrjg/s320/Oct+21+075.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />All in all I am feeling very crafty. The more so because, on Thursday, there was a very nice round dining table in said hard rubbish spot. So I rolled it to my flat. Am I a scab? Maybe. But after years of using op shop furniture, I am pretty picky. If it's not decent, it doesn't matter how cheap (or free) it is, I don't want it in my house. But there is a definite pleasure in making do, and saving things from being thrown away when they are perfectly good.<br /><br /><br />The point is that I moved the rectangular table that had been my dining table into my room, and now my sewing machine is sitting on it, easily accessible, along with tins of notions, etc. Then the drawers that were in my room had their contents emptied into the extremely spacious wardrobe (which also got a good reorganising - yes, I am the type of person who can spend a half an hour thinking about which shelf her shirts belong on. I also enjoy defragmenting my computer) and the drawers are in the living room, full of craft stuff. A drawer for embroidery, a drawer for paper and related craftiness, a drawer for my yarn stash (it doesn't count if it all fits in one receptacle, right? Except I just got more in the mail today and now it's not all going to fit) and the top drawer for whatever's on the go atm.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124061773218122738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQC3fzV34ikIpMbDWJD2nIBxN81GyDAOwfYMBDNdHmYyQzX_svKlR3ZhyNdfO5fPYgbCOLuoVfAp9HXNWptbE9Wh2RkVWZHSiT2bW2lSwYlnwlHC6EKVxYup9jkhG5aV_CEFFUg/s320/Oct+21+054.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />This meant I went through all my stuff, categorised it, judged how likely I was to finish and/or use it, and had a mini-purge. I've been pretty good since I moved at not accumulating too much crap, but my craft supplies are definitely my weak point. And some of the stuff I’ve had sitting around for yonks went, which was fantastic.<br /><br />It just feels so good, not only to be organised, but to have everything available and accessible.<br />And to add to my nestiness, we also took a trip to IKEA, where I got a lamp for $7 for my sewing set up, and a couple of picture frames. I've got these two maps of Europe that I've wanted to hang up for ages. I love maps. I have this<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124061979376552962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2ixusyj81SdrxkaZL3yD-DoZkEcIztvzHtgBoyfIcjj4lL_QrqTkVSXksmw8eJqXJV5Ed45vKQBpRXfdkjZCfGp5tk0qayzn33Fm1oiEMON38T01S5bWEL0X3ZD26ajAanCDWg/s320/2007_03130249.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center">(I know, dreadful picture, I'm sorry)</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">Up on my wall, and there's an area-correct map up above my bed. But I had nowhere to hang these two. They're from the period of the Enlightenment and the period just before the French Revolution, respectively, and they're pretty and interesting. So I framed the, but they're a little too small for the frames, so I cut some wrapping paper to size and put it behind them.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124062516247464994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbTx0p1GM0Ip8KkOZ6kRdbRKYVQFIDJG743ZJClgcB1HJAUK9z37-8Ho8AbhjzzMkzjfFuAjEH9NRGZBXcpV1TvW7beX-diBMqsFL_rx2YnJNsmVqaoUJqHeW6cyGF1k8FdI-Tg/s320/Oct+21+039.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Then I pintacked them to a piece of ribbon, sewed another, smaller ribbon to the first ribbon, tied the smaller ribbon in a double-knotted bow, and hung it on the wall.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124062198419885074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJJqK2LSjyv0h7xMXVTSWg0w0HJYbxZBtjFvyx0FR8Xpe2Pn7Yerg2D7K0SpAGyuv_im0VdqXRfZndxAKBcWS2VWYgwxeAHiPf87Baqyh-ezUy-dnEFqC7x4be9dX0CJPmYQRJQ/s320/Oct+21+038.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />I think it looks fabu.<br /><br />I'm just so crafty.Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-40985207569769181712007-10-17T11:04:00.000+09:302007-10-17T11:26:25.392+09:30An Ode to Buttons<div>Eye candy <a href="http://freewool.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_archive.html">here</a>.<br /><br />Bringing back memories,<br />Crisp as if they were separated from now<br />Only by glass<br />Not time.<br /><br />My mother's button tin<br />Bottom draw of the white chest of drawers<br />In the laundry-cum-sewing room. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Snuggled among</div><br /><div>The other tins</div><br /><div>Quality Street for lace trims</div><br /><div>Danish biscutis for ribbons</div><br /><div>Slippy satin and rough grosgrain.<br /><br />The shiny white laminate drawers<br />The soft, icy blue tiles.<br />Cold.<br /><br />The tin.<br />A coffee can.<br />White muslin glued over.<br /><br />The texture.<br />Smooth and cold, lightly covered<br />By soft and warm.<br />Good to slide your had over.<br /><br />A tiny blue ribbon.<br />Matched the ice-blue tiles<br />It's tiny dots<br />Matched the shiny white drawer<br />Circling the top of the tin.<br /><br />The blue plastic top<br />Easy to pop off<br />Even for little fingers<br /><br />Fingers which loved to run<br />Through buttons<br />Feel them<br />Slipping through fingers<br />Watch them<br />Gliding over one another<br /><br />That one from that top<br />This from another<br />Small red flowers<br />White enamel with pictures<br />Fabric covered.<br /><br />A tin full of colourful<br />Shiny<br />Slippery<br />Memories.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122118425070734130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaMBN9kMTtgtVqQ9bBPHwmOumEHA33BdrL9cvhzc9KO2AD9Ww_u4ydliDN2LXKr3H976U2UDT-YAjHExwNWqVKVFDi-YRrzOXEMMvcQiW6WlPEWP2xAJ5Im8zutWSk8tYKwkdtA/s400/Oct+19+009.jpg" border="0" />Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-63592298271403464762007-10-17T09:43:00.000+09:302007-10-17T10:47:23.129+09:30I keel you...<div><div>Two things. One is Blogger, which insists on adding extra spaces between everything when you add a photo - and then will refuse to add spaces at all for some random reason. See: last post, which is airy and spacious up the top, and crazy bunched down the bottom. Nothing I can do will fix it. I keel you...</div><div></div><br /><br /><div>I'm thinking about getting a Typepad account for my bloggoversary, which is nowish.</div><br /><div></div><div></div><br /><br /><div>The other is... dum dum dum! That freaking sock.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>OMFG.<br /><br /></div><div>Let me start from the weekend. When last we left it, said sock was a beautiful 3 inches of perfect hedgerow stitch pattern. Sans cuff. On Friday night, I frogged it, and rolled itback into its familiar call. It seemed content enough.</div><div></div><br /><br /><div>Saturday I had another frenzy of starting fever. I didn't actually start anything, though. Why? Because every time I tried, the needles were wrong, the yarn was wrong, the pattern was wrong. The knitting gods had abandoned me. Halfway through Saturday, sitting in a pile of unravelled yarn, shouting 'why?!' to the sky (well, the ceiling) I got an answer. (NB: This never happened with any of the other gods I have tried. Only the amorphous knitting gods have seen fit to actually return their emails) The answer was this: finish something already.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It occured to me that, of the various projects I had tried that day, the only one which had gone without a hitch was the least likely: Branching Out. This had never been an enjoyable project for me previously, simply because I coudn't read my knitting and see what I had done, and everytime I made a mistake I was incapable of fixing it, and had to rip back several rows. And I made a lot of mistakes. </div><div></div><br /><br /><div>But not lately. Of course, some might say that this is simply because I had grown accustomed to knitting lace, that the pattern, while I didn't memorise it until the <em>final</em> repeat (just when you need that knowledge) had at least become familiar. I suppose that is true, too. But I have faith, and I know that the gods of knitting were also guiding my hands - them and <a href="http://craftlit.blogspot.com/">Craftlit</a>, which was my constant companion as I finished off the scarf.</div><div></div><br /><div>And finish it I did. I cast of on Saturday night, and now I have a lovely, lovely...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122101541554293506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX9cs6CwmyAMeVbV3EtrlHHb9Nm6CGZ4iCRzMR1WKOAYVwtz51nUvg_lJJD1YV2Q-HoQwsTHwizwu4ybFVZ5AHoTsyWA2SvABTTw8Kzrn-moZfvSKMWU77uThKNCjs3Aa1XqLJKA/s320/Oct+19+002.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Pile of blue string.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So, even though I've cast off, I don't reallt feel like I've finished it. It needs blocking. I went out on Sunday and bought one of those sets of soft, rubbery whatever. you know, those kids matts things. But I don't have enough pins. I'm going to have to venture into the Cave of Temptation, aka Spotlight.</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122108155803929362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmS43eKLNAn7yLqresGzcCxtJrxe24I5fDQJfhSoFFXrCrNCfWkhzNMDa75fzfquq0JZzV4UIBI0Pkz1CiEJ7kXmq69vliKUnfIr_IjKBiO-62V-ROtSbcdOERm1LjRe1blydlQ/s320/Oct+19+041.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Still, when you've recieved a message from a deity, no matter how niche, you probably should get on it. I cast on the last sleeve for my sister's jacket on Sunday morning, took it to knitting group, and cast off on Monday morning. Then I immediately cast on the collar. I teckon that'll take me most of the week to get done. I'm thinking I might go purchase wrappings for it, to incentivise the seaming process.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Then I can use the needle that that's on to finish the mittens that I'm making for my bff in China - I need to do a two circs job on the thumb, it's just too bulky seamed.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Speaking of needles, I've invested in a starter pack and extra tips of Knitpicks Options. Love! I've been a fan of their DPNS for a while, since I prefer metal, and they are the cheapest metal option for 5 in a set (4 is standard here in Oz), and also are pretty, light and functional. I hadn't been working on Cobblestone (did I mention that I was knitting Cobblestone for my dad for christmas? No? I am) and the crappy Spotlight needles had the most gawdawful jump. Not so the knitpicks - they're like buttah. Buttah, I tells ya.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So Cobblestone got some work done on it last night, at the informal Cousin's knitting night. This was not the plan. The plan was to advance the Hedgerow socks. And I did. I got about an inch into the pattern.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Then I frogged it.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I guess I just wasn't paying enough attention to what I was doing. See, the trouble with half memorising something, is that your subconscious can't decide which repeat it wants to be knitting - the first repeat on one needle, the second on the next.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Despite the distinct lack of knitting progress, it was an excellent night. I love hanging out with my cousins, especially when it's us girls. I brought up the subject of the Gentle Arts of Domesticity and we all had a nice agreeable rant about people who call themselves Feminists, pretend to represent us as a gender, and then proceed to tell us what to do, because free will is obviously a Bad Thing. We talked about Marriage and Children (none of us is hugely keen, but I suppose ask us in 5 years) and Relationships and Family and Each Other.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I love my family. They rock.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Unlike this sock. I will defeat it. I will....</div></div>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-53687764764189299442007-10-16T16:10:00.000+09:302007-10-17T09:43:27.029+09:30Yawn<div align="justify">It seems like this is all blogland can talk about (although I've read numerous blogs today which have nothing to say on the matter.) I was reading <a href="http://domesticali.blogspot.com/">Domesticali</a>, and she mentioned it, in conjunction with her husband<a href="http://domesticali.blogspot.com/2007/10/dishcloth-induced-debate.html"> telling her </a>that knitting was 'not sexy'. </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Leaving aside the fact that not everything needs to be, or<em> should</em> be, 'sexy', and that I object to the word as used to mean 'a good thing'. (Maybe I am a Good Feminist after all)</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">I was thinking about and - I'm tired. I mean, I would still like to engage with the people within the discussion - both the women who craft and the women who don't. But it's starting a little bit to feel like that thing where every winter the Media discovers knitting again, and decides that it is - wince - 'sexy'. And then they get a photo of some skinny, glamourous woman knitting a garter stitch scarf in chunky wool and looking ecstatic in her body-hugging clothes and stilettos.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">And part of me wants to say: Leave us alone. </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">One of the things I love about the internet is, if you don't like something, you can just go away. And I think that if these people don't like watching us craft, then... they should just go away.</div><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">But I suppose that if we are damaging the fabric of feminism, then thye can't, in all good conscience, do so. Can they?</div><br /><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Maybe it's just because it's the end of the day. However, in the spirit of letting them watch me craft if that is what they feel like doing, here is what I did on the weekend.</div><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121824108141808338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9AP0Dx6n764Tu86pz_PpByyf1PkY41WxUs4Zz8JX2MPpaa-OUcCAFIFfso9dW8YjE0LuYbOZzaK8QZ1ENFl2klmzUfRWxloawy2mg50iNfMaSubYC5i30lL3qQGrsCKuyH7piEA/s320/Oct+19+013.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://knitty.com/ISSUEspring06/PATTnautie.html">'Nautie' </a>from knitty.com</div><br /><br /><div align="justify">Knitted for a friend (at her request). I finished the shell ages ago, and then broke one of the (plastic op shop) needles. So I didn't have the right size DPNs. I finally just used 3.25s. I thought that his head might be too little for his body, so I cast on an extra amount of stiches, but I shouldn't have - it made it a bit too large, and it puckers a little. I thought it was going to look pretty bad, but with the i-cord tentacles (I hate i-cord) and eyes, he actually looks pretty cute, I think.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121827784633813730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJpJWjCQE9NeaXFGXdMs-4y8ReVOs5bap6ITChcejdUOwY2OPhbKDx6MIz6-ZvDZCk29MBB6XSMro34KHxzFdoftJqPIeAqL9p-wiMW7VlKKjeLQPWXsBfajlA-uO0bRTuB-HrA/s320/Oct+19+012.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><div align="justify">You can't really see in this pic, but because the yarn is dark and the stuffing is light, it shows through a little. I was already making plans to knit it again - with aran wool and instead of increasing every regular amount of rows, I would do it properly, like in nature - exponentially or however it really is done (research needed) since it's a bit of an awkward increase, anyway. </div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Then I realised that I didn't really enjoy knitting this anyway, the second time, and what would I do with it? Maybe I'll do it someday, but not anytime soon. </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121828982929689330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1OesIcPoJ3_DxmryV7SYcb6kclUWT2-hCe1k1i2HhfNYpTfjiEyQoyUvRUL1rhTLSL1FM7GisNpFnJWiQBM732dS7_ZfjFxKhP26-WixmCFg572ebcn_4lJAPYqO40359td5BQ/s320/Oct+19+004.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center">Box bag from the <a href="http://dragoknit.blogspot.com/2007/02/box-bag-tutorial.html">tutorial </a>from <a href="http://dragoknit.blogspot.com/">dragoknitfly</a>.</div><br /><br /><div align="left">Yes, I have been sewing. I have in fact sewn a bed warmer a la dogged knits, but since I'ts warm, I have not used it (plus, it's a little dodgy. Pictures later. Maybe) I have been bonding with my sewing machine.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">What I learnt from this experience: even though these two projects were essentially two large squares, I have absolutely no capacity for spacial visualisation. I called my mum twice while sewing this bag to get her to help me figure out how to, eg, fit the thing through the machine, or place the fabric so it looks right when turned right side out.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Also, I should have used heavy-weight interfacing. Medium-heavy just doesn't cut it.</div><div align="left">Even with this meager sucess, I am having daydreams of a string of these and the zaka-style pouches from the crafter's companion to house all my various WIPs and FOs. Wouldn't that be fantastic!</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">And it will totally happen, too. Totally...</div>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37377396.post-48726513346383849002007-10-16T08:15:00.001+09:302007-10-16T09:41:25.144+09:30Can't we all just get along?<div align="justify">So, last night I listened to the <a href="http://yarnstorm.blogs.com/knitblog/2007/10/pinnacle.html">interview</a> by Jane Brocket (aka Yarnstorm), which I downloaded from <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio/podcasts/whnews/">here</a>. (I'ts still available, until the next episode of Women's Hour pushes it off. It's only and 8 minutes piece, but it's interesting)</div><p> </p><p>The thing that stuck with me was when Whoever the antagonist was (I think her name was Kate something?) started attacking the book as being full of things that need 'leisure and money'. Which is true. But then Jane compared it to going to the gym.</p><br /><br /><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">I just kept thinking about this all night. I think she was spot on. The gym-goer and I both spend q decent amount of time and money each month doing our respective activities. We both get something out of it. Knitting etc won't make me fit or more comfortable in my body, and running on a treadmill won't satisfy her creatively, or produce something beautiful at the end (unless it's her). We both probably think that each other would benefit from sharing in our particular activity. We both might be right. Or maybe not.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">Almost everything we do requires leisure or money. I take Kate's (?) point that, for some women, this book and others like it will seem like it's accusing them of not being a Good Woman. But surely we are past that now? If I choose to spend my free time watching Australian Idol instead of knitting, will I be a Better Feminist? If I spend my money on comsetics instead of yarn? If I choose to go to the gym, not because I want to feel healthy, but because I want to be sexually attractive to men?</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121708818334681730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WASMW5-y3utCRvCH1RsdOD9b6gO6QIP4D8B8mWBmEB21j4O1le5zQAxGUGNuMgLLVd8F2KGV2u1h7CP8nVz1sa_TxvjWjuwgeyP9Tx5_zJOlYyvAA1M3S5CAtemPYwRYz3eMcw/s320/Oct+19+029.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="justify">I think, again, it comes down to choices. I think many women who don't craft feel guilty when presented with the things that some of us make. Partly this is a result of the traditional nature of the things we do, and this should be worked against as much as possible until we overcome it. Partly it's because woman are, by nature, competitive. </p><br /><p align="justify">I was looking at my bookshelf this morning as I got dressed. You'd probably think I was an excellent Feminist from it. Backlash, Sperm Wars, Sexing the Millennium, The Feminist Mystique, Everything She Can Do, I Can Do Better. Truth to tell, I've read almost none of them. I borrowed the Cinderella Complex, made it through three chapters, couldn't identify with it, and returned it. I'm currently trying to read Female Chauvinist Pigs, and it's <em>too</em> relevant - it made me so angry and sick that I had to put it down.</p><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121709475464678034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivx9DIObulb2v2jKDD2azursQAbOImwmB06aTO6OiqSgelWQvUVrj8xIC7sRfecRjukIGgWNRu-IJsCnh9xFepvmDoQFD1voRiXrqEsHS-cnpaDJIR1uWxgykyiEMDBW2ZKqtLxQ/s320/October+1+073.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br />The things I have read, seem to come down to this: 'you are Free to do What You Like, and what Empowers You.'<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">Well, I like knitting. I like sewing. I like living in a nice place, that is clean and tidy, I find it helps me be better - at whatever I might be doing. If you don't, if you like other things, if you choose to spend your free time doing alternate activities - what effect does that have on me? Only that there's more yarn in the stores. </div><br /><br /><br /><br />One woman's choice seems to be another's moral judgement.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">Again, this makes me sad. Both for them, tying themselves in knots about my choice, and for me - that I should be pressured not to do the things I have talents in and that I enjoy, just to fit someone elses picture of what I should be. Isn't that a backwards step?</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">It comes to mind that this is supposed to be a <em>craft</em> blog. And it just so happens that I have a fantastic segway. I got my grubby hands on a copy of this last week.</div><div align="justify"> </div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121707521254558290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ujTk5DirX70rx_8h7-6afX2P9urk7wnxqQ_qyh_nlPFwu1HmPIDXlpuoRi9nW60veMcaCe7JGQAIVH_DKU22iLAfFidgNmJEuACVPA8yvz06lAwbiabQzZCqKCxlDPUskBWFyQ/s320/Oct+19+003.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />I think it definitely qualifies as 'pinny porn' (I'm starting to hate that word. Good discussion <a href="http://doggedknits.com/?p=1133">here</a>)* It's gorgeous. Better, it's inspiring. There are several things in it that I want to make, and since the instructions are vague - in a good way - I've already come up with tons of ideas about what I want to do It motivated me to do this.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121707766067694178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9wtjmP0jfWH5PZ3KoFqm9Pat9i6iYhSB1WYXerLhPpXJstZ2qDqGH7aOICtA_x0yNEIE6T8Z_Ai_1ibDbhfAqGVfOBeuNLggWgPppj7Ef0C_oEnOK-cT-QCwBJ_CudoTbwEMqw/s320/Oct+19+006.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />OK, so it was completely pointless, but I enjoyed doing it, and it's pretty. See?<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121708208449325682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdgzaGsL0kPfn62s9T2SLXQX8xn5kAKFHC2UKNjeuYws5HfcDqWU_Vs8WWqSbEfQzPsy9RSvJIyQA3bG2-UzB7NmBWh9mnrf8OhM2Sb8ex-nBYyMOTx0VQeojxw8SRL9KwfL2xg/s320/Oct+19+008.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />There's just something about buttons.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">*I found it interesting that there's a thread on the ravelry forums about 'creepy' foot fetishists adding photos of people's feet in handknitted socks to their favourites in flickr. One of the participants in this discussion on ravelry had the moniker of 'sock pr0n'. I'm not sure what conclusion to draw from that.</div>Kaviarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08409825601485451978noreply@blogger.com1