Craftastrophies

Hai! Bai!

2008-05-09T16:05:00.002+09:30

Dear blogger,

It's not you, it's me.

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.

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 here.

That's right. I've found someone new. Someone supportive. Someone who will let me be me. Someone I'm comfortable with.

I hope we can stay friends.

Love

Kate

So, as I was saying...

2008-04-16T16:14:00.002+09:30

So anyway, then I says to him, I says.... how long?!?

Apparently I fell off the edge of the world. But now I'm back! Oh, yes. Fur sure.

Only, I'm out of the habit, now. What do I say? Let's start with what's on my needles.

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.

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.

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...'

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.

Since I am most certainly not in the mood to wrangle with blogger, here is a link to my flickr 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 here. While you're there, you can also search for 'jo sharp wrap jacket' and a picture of my sister pops up. Gave me a shock the other day, I can tell you.

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.

In all seriousness, though. I think I've run out. I have five pages 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.

Thankyou, Jess and Casey. You are the best enablers EVER.

Review O'clock.

2008-03-07T11:10:00.005+10:30

Last Saturday I went to go see 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' 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'

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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*

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 too impassioned at times, so that you couldn't tell when they really meant something. There was no modulation. But whatever.

If you can, I would strongly recommend you see this. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Just read the synopsis first.

Impressionist Sky

2008-02-26T08:11:00.016+10:30

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.

So, first, I got one of these:

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’.

Mostly I just call him 'bunny', though. Or 'bunster' or 'bunstable', or 'el bunnarino', since I'm not into that whole brevity thing.

He disapproves of my poor cleaning skills.

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.

Second, I frogged this.

It is technically my first jumper. You might remember me talking about it here, and here, 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.

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.

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!

Some of it has since become something else, but more about that when I have pictures.

I’ve made progress on this:

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.

And then I lay out all the pieces. All the pieces knit in alpaca. Alpaca with no silk involved. Heavy. Hot. Short… sleeved…

Shit.

I WILL DEFEAT YOU!!!1!!111!1

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.

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?

Sigh.

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 blue jacket. 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.

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.

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.

This is not my bunny. this is my sister's Bunny. His name is Giacomo Casanova. No joke. Also, if you haven't seen it, you should totally check out the BBC TV series of Cassanova with David Tennant in it. It's totally surreal and cool. And sexy. Best. Dr Who. EVER.

And to top it off, a story whose moral I have not yet decided on.

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.

It was gone.

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.

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.

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…

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.

Also not my Bunny. I hope my sister never finds this blog, or I'm in Trouble.

Joyful Sorrow

2008-02-13T09:42:00.000+10:30

I 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.

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.

Let's try a metaphor here. This path - it's the way to a whole and healed nation. With me? OK. The gorse and broom weeds on the edges? Brendon Fucking Nelson.

God. Way to screw up your moment in the sunshine.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But it is still a reality in which there is room for hope.

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.

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.

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.

All I know is, I'm hopefull. And I'm so, so, sorry.

Knitting

2008-01-18T15:47:00.000+10:30

Oh, 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.

Looking on ravelry and listening to Stash and Burn 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.

But some things have stuck. Like Tempest. Do you think that would look ridiculous? I almost don't care. I want it. And Milicent, I want badly. Badly. Except sans sparkles.

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.

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.

Anyway, that was all extraneous. What I was really blogging for was to tell you this story.

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.

'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.

'A sock.'

'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.

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)

But this one has made me grin every time I think about it.

A sock. Awesome.

Lessons for a new year

2008-01-14T09:08:00.000+10:30

On the last post, Jessica suggested that it was time for some maths. She was right.

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.

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.

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.

Goodbye, beautiful slip stitch

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.

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.

This part was fun.

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.

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 Henley perfected 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.

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.

For the green, I settled on the Fairy Net Blouse from Summer 2006 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.

See, it's knit in Blue Sky Alpaca Alpaca Silk. On the pattern 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.

But the source of my confusion is the pattern profile 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.

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?

In other new, today's xkcd comic cracked me up. I, of course, googled it. Here 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.

On Gauge

2008-01-04T10:12:00.000+10:30

By 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.

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 here, although it's still pictureless because the photos? On my camera.

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.

The other one is this. I started Bryant's Slipover, 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 socks. 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.

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.

Cross. That's what I am.

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.

Merry Christmas... Fo Fo Fo...

2007-12-14T13:18:00.000+10:30

First (and noting: 'firstly' is not a word. It just isn't, OK? It's 'first' or it's nothing.) Branching out

Blocking:

And being modelled by yet another lovely cousin:

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.

Pattern: Branching Out

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.

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.

And yet... this time last year, I was sitting in my room, knitting this jumper. I didn't know how to m1 without making holes. 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.

There's always something new to learn, in knitting.

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:

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.)

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 winterwood. 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.

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.

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:

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.

Then I hung them on FO numero three:

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?

My mummy made it for me that dismal christmas I spent in China. It's bee-yu-ti-ful.

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.

And, because I grew up in Lobethal (before it was commercial and toursity and the locals got fed up with it)

It's not Christmas without lights

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.

To add to the parade of christmassy items, I started an advent calendar, a la this one. 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).

And the DNA scarf I am knitting for my dad.

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:

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:

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.

And finally, Jen 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.

So go read her blog.

Meh

2007-12-07T09:10:00.000+10:30

The 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!'

It's hard to hold back. But it needs to be done. Working on that.

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.

The roses. They has a smell...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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!

Speaking of. Here is the requested modelled shot of my sister's wrap cardi, thanks to Claire, my cousin:

It was very bright.

And the back. Do you like my use of props?

I find a mop in the background livens up any picture.

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...)

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.

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 just 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.

Just a gratuitous shot of my sister, being insufferably cool after her audition for the Adelaide Youth orchestra. She wishes she was John Lennon.

The other FO is my mittens for my bff in China, from a free pattern by Debbie Bliss on Knitting Daily. This is what happens when you knit the flappy bit according to the pattern:

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:

And with the duplicate stitch on the top (It's less lumpy since I blocked them):

Schnazzy, no? I didn't have any worsted weight white yarn, so I doubled up some DK yarn, and it worked OK.

Modifications:

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.
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 extra 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.

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 these. And these. And maybe even these, although as we all know, pirates are a long-dead meme. The internet is brutal.

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.

AND, I've cast on for the DNA scarf, 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 cabled scarf. 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.

I should blog more often. I feel much more productive, now!

Also: Dear Blogger, I hate you.

Civic art I have seen

2007-11-22T08:47:00.000+10:30

And not photographed

On a cream brick wall, high up, spray paiunted in black: "LIBERAL PARTY = PROFITS OVER PEOPLE"

On a footpath ramp, in green, very neatly: "please don't vote john howard back in"

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"

Ennui?

2007-11-21T15:46:00.000+10:30

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 finally 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!)

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.

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.

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.

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.

Not that much progress on the crafting, although I am feeling the mojo come dribbling back. I was looking at Jodie's blog, and these darling little hedgehogs have stolen my heart. And they speak French! And the pencilcases! With mushrooms! And skipping!

Calming down now. (And monkeys!)

Also, check this 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.

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.

Note to self: take some photos.

November

2007-11-14T08:26:00.000+10:30

It's kicking my ass.

Remember the NaKniSweMo thing? Yeah... not so much.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

At least they were pretty socks. Maybe I'll knit them. Can you imagine? 'Nice socks.' 'Thanks. I saw them in a dream...'

Love to knit

2007-11-06T11:27:00.000+10:30

The 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 with a staff discount. A decent staff discount. So far I have ordered the Crafter's Compantion, The Ghost Map (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.

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 Love To Knit, 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.

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 knit 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 another garter stitch scarf pattern. Who does she think we are?)

But in Love to Knit, 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 Le Slouch. (pdf link) Also, the world does not need more knit miniskirts. It just doesn't.

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).

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.

For real? With silk roses, and everything.

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?

I remember hearing an interview with Shannon Oakey, when she was talking about knitgrrl, 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.

It's the muggle problem all over again. Knitters are just people, you know.

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.

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.

I just... why with the judgy, I guess was my extremely articulate point.

Measure twice

2007-11-02T16:29:00.000+10:30

Cutting not recommended.

I've just been reading through Grumperina's archives (I'm on a get-bloglines-under-control binge) and I was reading where she's talking about TrueJeans. And how you measure yourself. And then they recommend jeans. One their website... they provide a printable tape measure.

So.

Cool.

A belated weekend post

2007-10-31T15:32:00.000+10:30

I 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 yarnstorm's lemon curd cake.

My mum loves 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 way 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.

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.

Hilarious. We did eventually convince her to buckle up, but it took some extremely specific instructions.

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.

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.)

And this was my favourite thing there.

A sampler snake. No name or anything attached.

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.

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?

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.

Anyway, I bought a few things there. I bought these poppies

Two bunches for two dollars each. And they are gorgeous. (roses in the foreground from the rosebush I planted at my folks' place)

I bought this yarn

From the Gumeracha Spinners and Weavers Guild stall. I’d tell you who spin it, except that the two ladies who served me cut it off. 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.

And I bought this in the gallery

For seven dollars. You might remember me talking about this picturebefore. I love it. Even though the colours are completely wrong. I need a frame for it.

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.

All in all, it was a very happy weekend, and I was sorry for it to end.

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...

Guess what I did last night?

2007-10-26T08:35:00.000+09:30

That's right. I taught myself to crochet.

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.)

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 must have it. I must have several versions. In my mind there's the original-style colourful one. Then there's the all-warm or all-cool colour ones, strong colours and kilmt-like colours (with maybe a little extra yellow-orange through it for some kick. Maybe even chocqua! (links are inside Ravelry, sorry)

Because, you know, I have all that time and money to spare.

Like I said, I think I have a problem.

However, I am determined to have this blanket. It will happen. Problems: Pattern, yarn, learning to crochet.

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.

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.

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 Cinnabar Sweater. 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.

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.

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.

My fingers are itching...

The magic of the ordinary

2007-10-23T09:47:00.001+09:30

I've been mulling over the value of handwork.

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?

Is there magic in it?

My conclusion is that I think there is. But it's subjective. And it's not a given.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 aren't people who have a lot of extra money or free time. They craft because it's what they do. It's an important part of who they are. It's art.

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.

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 us. In it's creators and users. Its magic is in how it changes us and the way we see it and other things.

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.

This top was fabric.

Before that it was thread.

Before that it was cotton.

Before that it was earth and sun and seeds and labour.

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.

It was reading this 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.

And once you see the magic in ordinary things, you understand the importance of 'small pleasantnesses'. 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.

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.

Reflections

2007-10-23T08:10:00.000+09:30

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.

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.

Then I stepped out into the rain.

It was nice.

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.

Rain is the only thing Imiss in summer.

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.

You know the sock I mean. This sock.

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.

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.

This morning when I got up the first thing I did was go and find my sock. I think my subconscious hates me...

Glorious

2007-10-22T14:19:00.000+09:30

This is what I spent most of my weekend either looking at or doing.

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).

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?

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.

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...

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)

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.

However, it did require a little good old Australian know how (I always think of Tom Lehrer when someone uses that phrase - 'Good old American know how, as provided by Good Old Americans like Werner Von Braun...') otherwise known as being scabby.

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:

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:

Who was quite cross that I was sitting on his balcony, and almost flew into my face a couple times, which was quite alarming.

I was reading this 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.

Before that, I did this:

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:

And then this:

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.

A towel. I mean, I ask you.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It just feels so good, not only to be organised, but to have everything available and accessible.
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

(I know, dreadful picture, I'm sorry)

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.

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.

I think it looks fabu.

I'm just so crafty.

An Ode to Buttons

2007-10-17T11:04:00.000+09:30

Eye candy here.

Bringing back memories,
Crisp as if they were separated from now
Only by glass
Not time.

My mother's button tin
Bottom draw of the white chest of drawers
In the laundry-cum-sewing room.

Snuggled among

The other tins

Quality Street for lace trims

Danish biscutis for ribbons

Slippy satin and rough grosgrain.

The shiny white laminate drawers
The soft, icy blue tiles.
Cold.

The tin.
A coffee can.
White muslin glued over.

The texture.
Smooth and cold, lightly covered
By soft and warm.
Good to slide your had over.

A tiny blue ribbon.
Matched the ice-blue tiles
It's tiny dots
Matched the shiny white drawer
Circling the top of the tin.

The blue plastic top
Easy to pop off
Even for little fingers

Fingers which loved to run
Through buttons
Feel them
Slipping through fingers
Watch them
Gliding over one another

That one from that top
This from another
Small red flowers
White enamel with pictures
Fabric covered.

A tin full of colourful
Shiny
Slippery
Memories.

I keel you...

2007-10-17T09:43:00.000+09:30

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...

I'm thinking about getting a Typepad account for my bloggoversary, which is nowish.

The other is... dum dum dum! That freaking sock.

OMFG.

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.

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.

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.

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 final 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 Craftlit, which was my constant companion as I finished off the scarf.

And finish it I did. I cast of on Saturday night, and now I have a lovely, lovely...

Pile of blue string.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Then I frogged it.

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.

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.

I love my family. They rock.

Unlike this sock. I will defeat it. I will....

Yawn

2007-10-16T16:10:00.000+09:30

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 Domesticali, and she mentioned it, in conjunction with her husband telling her that knitting was 'not sexy'.

Leaving aside the fact that not everything needs to be, or should be, 'sexy', and that I object to the word as used to mean 'a good thing'. (Maybe I am a Good Feminist after all)

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.

And part of me wants to say: Leave us alone.

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.

But I suppose that if we are damaging the fabric of feminism, then thye can't, in all good conscience, do so. Can they?

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.

'Nautie' from knitty.com

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.

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.

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.

Box bag from the tutorial from dragoknitfly.

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.

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.

Also, I should have used heavy-weight interfacing. Medium-heavy just doesn't cut it.

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!

And it will totally happen, too. Totally...

Can't we all just get along?

2007-10-16T08:15:00.001+09:30

So, last night I listened to the interview by Jane Brocket (aka Yarnstorm), which I downloaded from here. (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)

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.

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.

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?

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.

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 too relevant - it made me so angry and sick that I had to put it down.

The things I have read, seem to come down to this: 'you are Free to do What You Like, and what Empowers You.'

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.

One woman's choice seems to be another's moral judgement.

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?

It comes to mind that this is supposed to be a craft blog. And it just so happens that I have a fantastic segway. I got my grubby hands on a copy of this last week.

I think it definitely qualifies as 'pinny porn' (I'm starting to hate that word. Good discussion here)* 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.

OK, so it was completely pointless, but I enjoyed doing it, and it's pretty. See?

There's just something about buttons.

*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.

Feminism is a Four Letter Word

2007-10-15T11:38:00.000+09:30

I think about feminism a lot. Not in an abstract, high-brow way, although I suppose I could. I spent four years at University learning to speak in terms of liberal values and what is universally moral, and why you should believe what I'm saying because, clearly, I have the weight of the Western World and all it's thinkers behind me. But I never did Women's Studies, never even got close. The closest I got was admitting, in a third year tutorial, that I considered myself to be a 'feminist'. And I was shocked by people's reaction. They looked at me like I was crazy, took in my short hair and comfortable shoes and, I'm sure, decided that I was a lesbian, a man-hater, or both.

I am neither.

But I am vexed by a world in which it is hard to say that you are a feminist. This means that only the extremists, who want the Men to die, will claim the title. I grew up assuming that everyone was a feminist, in the same way that everyone is Human. At least that all women would be feminists, because, surely, it's ridiculous to suppose that anyone would want to have no choice. Because isn't that what it's about? Choice? You can be free, but if you can't choose what to do with your freedom, it's a false freedom. In name only.

I remember the furor our Women's Officer at uni created. The Women's space was being moved, since the buildings were being renovated, and some planner decided that all the offices together was a better idea. The alternate space was not inferior. But she decided that it was a conspiracy by the patriarchy to oust the Women's Room. I am generally quite suspicious of conspiracy theories in general, since they take much more effort for the conspirators than is usually feasible. But I do believe in the patriarchy. Because I'm a part of it, I know it is there, I see it all the time. But sometimes it is just. Not. About. That.

So, the Women's Room was being moved, and our Women's Officer at the time went on a huge rant against, you guessed it, men. She started out sounding sane with why we need a Women's Room and not, for example, a Men's Room. (Although, if the men felt that they needed one, they could go ahead and make one for themselves) Then it started down the slope of why we needed the women's room, really. IE, because all men are pigs and should have their testicles torn off with rusty pliers.

This is where I jump of the bandwagon. I'm sorry? you are saying that in order for me to be empowered, I need to dis-empower others? You're saying that equality isn't what we're after? That equal and just treatment is, in fact, the enemy? No thanks. Truly, I think I would rather be oppressed than the oppressor. At least there's moral superiority in that.

As I've said before, I truly believe that men and women are, essentially, different beings. I like being a woman, and not a man. I don't want to change the things about me that make me different. Partly this is because, why should 'being equal' mean 'being like men'? I'm happy with 'different but equal', despite the historical instances of that phrase actually meaning 'different, and inferior'. I think we are closer now than we ever have been. I think that's wonderful. but we're not there yet. Not by a long shot. And partly, the problem is ourselves.

Each other.

I feel a deep gratitude to the women who pushed the envelope before I was born, and while I was young, so that I could grow up taking for granted that I was as human as anyone else, and my right to an opinion was as strong.

But they missed something. Most of them. That was: We want to choose. We want to choose to work. We want to choose to raise children. We want to choose whatever gives us satisfaction, be that handstitching a quilt or writing legislation. We want to choose variations and combinations of these, and other things, and while not every choice will be the ones we wish we could make, and every choice will involve sacrifice, and unpleasantness, we want this to be only a function of living in the real world with it's real hardships and facts. Most of those feminists never had children (as I found out in this excellent book, which is gentle and thoughtful and, I've just found out by googling, extremely controversial). That's not a problem. It's just a fact. Choosing one thing rules out another choice.

That's life.

The fact that this is seen as a betrayal of feminism seems cruel to me. It means that those who choose to work feel guilt that they are not at home, on top of all the hardships that being a working mother entails. And those who choose to stay at home feel guilt that they are not working, along with all the hardships that staying at home entails.

And it means that we feel the need to paint each other's choices as 'wrong', in order to make ours 'right'. This frustrates me, badly.

I've been reading Yarnstorm, which I've had in my blogroll for about a year, but, since it starts with a 'y', haven't read in almost as long. But Jen was talking about it, and I took another look. Apparently there's been some controversy about whether the kind of life that I see us all trying for in blogland, that beautiful life full of creativity and peace and the joy of small things, is 'valid'. I don't even know how to respond to that.

Because I want that life. This morning, I cooked, I cleaned, I knit, before I went in to work. And I thought to myself that if I could do that all day, I would be happy. Not all day, every day. That's not a full, well lived life, for me. But just showing up at the office doesn't guarantee you that, either. And these days, when most people don't have 'careers', they just have life-long jobs... which will better give you satisfaction? I don't know that either is guaranteed to do so. It's about who you are, and what you can make of it.

My little nest

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy working, interacting with people, etc. but I also know that it gets in the way of the life I would like to have. Not a Martha Stewart life, but the type of life I see on blogland. Not that that is really real, any of it. But bits and pieces are. A careful, intimately beautiful life, filled with light and love and handmade things.

And I know that that is not what life is. I love the different aspects of life, and I love thinking about the way my life changes, and looking forward to all the changes to come. But whatever those changes are, if they involve a career, or a husband, or children, or a life of solitude, or any combination, I want to be free to make the choices that it presents to me without fear of being ridiculed by people who, quite frankly, should know better.

Otherwise, what is freedom for?

Dame Roma Mitchell

First woman in Australia to be Queen's Counsel

Twice Dux of my high school

Advocate of equal pay for equal work

Fighter for Social Justice

First female Commonwealth supreme Court Judge (retired from the bench the year I was born)

CBE

Lecturer

Senior Deputy Chancellor and Chancellor of Adelaide University (first woman in Australia)

(First woman) Governor of South Australia

Founding Chairperson of the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission

Conservative Feminist

Mother

General Hogger of 'Firsts'

Take a Deep Breath

2007-10-11T08:32:00.000+09:30

Or, the continuing saga of the cursed sock.

So, I'm 3 inches in. It's looking great. Then, last night, I'm looking at it. I have 10 minutes before I have to leave to go to my grandma's for tea. And I'm thinking 'will this fit over my foot?'

The pattern says that it fits a 8-8 1/2" round foot. Mines about 9", but I like my socks real snug, so I was kind of hoping I could wing it. I pulled it over my foot - perfect. Then I'm thinking 'will this fit over my heel?'

I string the stitches onto some waste yarn. I pull it over my foot - still perfect. I pull it over my heel - well. I try to pull it over my heel. It won't go. It's will almost, nearly go. But it won't. No, sir. That yarn is stretched as far as it will stretch, and it wont fit over my heel.

I pull it off of my foot and throw it onto the table in disgust. The yarn and I glare at each other.

I cast on again, with another of the little balls of the yarn that I got when I frogged the pair it was before. The 3 inches of beautiful stitch pattern is still sitting on my table, with the waste yarn, shouting yarn swear words at me.

I'm choosing to think of it as a gauge swatch. A real cranky gauge swatch.

I said READ THEM

2007-10-10T09:14:00.000+09:30

So, I ended up working on my sock after all, last night. I think I've got the pattern down. It only took me three hours. It's only a 6-st repeat, made up of purls and knits, but knitting has a way of reminding me of my cognitive failings. Think you'll remember where you left off? I don't think so! Think you'll remember what changes you made on the first sock? Dream on.

Think you'll apply the lessons learnt this week and READ THE INSTRUCTIONS?

Not a chance.

I am 2 inches into the hedgerow sock.

It does not have a cuff.

Why is there always that moment the next morning where you look at it and think... hang on?

I was checking the pattern to see how long it suggests you make the leg, when I realised that the pattern included a cuff section. I mean, you know. Because it's a sock. I wish I could go back in time so that I could wait until now, and then I could slap myself on the back of my head.

Actually, it's not too big a disaster, I don't think. It's basically a rib pattern anyway. It won't look the same, but I kind of like how it's looking. And I refuse to unwind it again because 1)enough already! and 2) I don't think the yarn could take it. It's holding up well for how often it's been knit, but there are limits, you know.

I think the yarn is cursed. That's it. It must be the yarn.

The moral of the story is: Read the instructions

2007-10-09T15:19:00.001+09:30

And read them all the way through.

I made a rabbit on the weekend. See?

She's from Debbie Bliss's Special Knits, and I fell in love with the bunny's 'tude in the picture. I mean, she's a happy bunny, but at the same time she's all like 'what? i'm prosh, I'm bootiliscious,

and y'all can bite me.'

I don't know why my rabbit is Southern, but apparently it is so. She's also sleepy.

Her face actually stands out better than this. I was going to make her winking, but I thought that that might be a bit much.

I don't really know why I made her, apart from that I liked her. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with her now. This pattern was lovely, very elegant with the shaping. The only thing I didn't like about it was that it called for aran yarn, and 3.25 needles. Which gave a very tight fabric, and since it was on such small needles, I gripped it very tight and I had to put it down every now and then to give my hands a rest so that they didn't get sore.

As for the title - well, I made all her pieces, and started putting her together. I seamed up her legs. I seamed up her body. I attatched the legs to the body. I went to attatch the arms to the body - and then I realised that I'd seamed up too much of the body, and there was nowhere to put the arms, which are supposed to be inserted into the body seam, as the ears are inserted into the head seam. I fudged it, but it took a couple of goes, and I was cross with myself for having not paid attention.

I also started on the hedgerow socks last night. I was whizzing along, about a half an inch deep, when I put it down to go to bed. This mornign I thought I would manage a row or two before I had to leave in the morning. That's when I realised. It's a 2 row repeat, not an every-second row repeat.

Yeah, my eyes are getting a good workout, what with all that attention I've been paying.

So, I frogged it (again!) This yarn is getting a good work out. Here's what it looks like now.

That's not quite true, I did cast on again while I was waiting for the bus this morning, and I have the regular Tuesday knitting date with my cousins tonight, although that might be too thinking a knitting project, since I'm not quite used to the stitch pattern yet (clearly).

It's really the only one I have that I can do, though. I've got my sister's jacket, but the circular needle for that is being used as one of two circular needles to do the thumb of a mitten, but since I don't have the other circular, I can't do that. Branching out is too thinky, too. I'm working on Cobblestone for my dad, but that is on hiatus. The circ I have for it has too defined a join, making it frustrating to work on. I went to order an addi for it, and... I ordered the wrong length. It's not the end of the world - it is a length that I need, but it's not the one I need now.

Doing. So. Well.

Maybe I'll make another bunny.

Dear Ravelry

2007-10-08T15:46:00.000+09:30

I heart you. I heart you so hard. I want to have your virtual children.

Anyway. So, I have spent most of last week on Ravelry. My username is Kaviare, if'n you are on there and you want to join me.

I have also spent some time trying to wade through the backlog in my bloglines. I was reading sooz's blog, and I was like 'wait, I don't remember this Wil kid. What the?' Turns out? Last time I read was before he was born. This makes me sad. Sooz was one of the original blogs I read, and I love reading it. If someone's blog starts later in the alphabet than, say, 'd', I probably haven't read it in about that long. This is not only a source of guilt, it is a source of sadness. These are not just blogs I read to see what people made or whatever. These are people that I feel like I have an actual connection with. People who share parts of my life in ways that other people can't.

Since I still have no internet at home there is not much I can do about this. Except work harder to get internet at home. Which is waiting on getting a computer that is worth using on the internet. Which is up to someone else who is helping me get that. Gah.

Anyway, Ravelry = awesome. If you don't know what it is, then let me explain. It's like myspace or facebook for yarn. Except, instead of people you never want to talk to in real life, let alone online, there are fibre celebs like Franklin Habit, Brenda Dayne, The Girl From Auntie, Wendy from Knit and Tonic, The Yarn Harlot.... I've run out of breath.

And instead of looking at pictures of said people staring pensively off into the distance, or hanging drunkenly off of each other's shoulders, you get to look at other people's knitted and croched items. You get to see who has knitted the same things as you, or the things you want to knit, what they said, what yarn they used, who used the same yarn as you, what they said, what they knit with it....

And, instead of spamming your email every time you get a message, they send you kittens.

OK, so I made that last one up a little.

Anyway, if you haven't joined, you should. They've currently got over 15,600 users, and there are only 17,797 people on the waiting list... Seriously, there were about as many ahead of me when i joined, and I got in real quick. They are doing an amazing job and I love them.

Also, because the only way to put your photos up there is to use your flickr account, I've been getting a lot more use out of mine.

I had something to say, but I forget. So instead, I'll give you an FO report.

1950's Jumper

I wanted to knit myself a jumper. I really liked the look of the 1950's jumper in the Jo Sharp Knit 1. Elegant. Simple. Elegant. Except I wanted to knit it in Boutique, the new wool from Bendigo Woolen Mills. Boutique is 8 ply, while the pattern called for Alpace Silk Georgette, which is not only pricey, but also 5 ply. So I swatched. I got together with my mum, who teaches maths, and did my sums.

I decided that because I go out a ways, and then in a ways, I needed more shaping than Jo had factored in. So I calculated the stitches I would need for the waist, decreased dramatically, and then just increased the amount set in the pattern. There was a week or so when the extreme decreasing edge was freaking me out, btu my fath in Mathematics, and the soothing presense of more experienced knitters in my knitting group, who had seen such things before, kept me from going over the edge.

I won't go into the gorey details, but it all turned out in the end. I am actually a bit disattisfied with the shaping. not because it goe sin to far, but because it startes too far out. I think, if I did it over, I would pick about the middle sized pattern, and just knit it as the pattern saysx, or maybe with a few extra decreases.

I always forget the negative ease. I'm sorry, negative ease. I am learning to love you.

I actually wore it to work a couple of times as a vest. It worked quite well. I'm thinking of making one apurpose to be a vest. If only it weren't so dorky!

My sister is the worst picture taker ever.

She's all like 'pull a face, laugh, pretend like you're a rock star.'

And I'm all like 'Take. A. Photo. Of. The. Jumper.'

And she's like 'pretend like you're flying!'

But here it is, finished. You can see the bottom, on the left of the photo, where it's a bit lumpy from the wierd shaping.

I love the yarn. It's 65% Wool, 25% Bluefaced Leicester Wool, 10% Mohair. It's soft and warm and fuzzy and awesome. I'm actually thinking about making another one in the scarlet colour of the same yarn. Except, of course, that that's a littel adventurous for me. Colour, you know. It has been drawn to my attention that I prefer jewel tones or desaturated colours.

Anyway, Love. I'm wearing it now. Success tastes sweet.

Resolve

2007-10-01T13:26:00.000+09:30

I tried on the socks yesterday, to have a farewell photoshoot. And it decided me. I will not wear and love these socks. I loved the widdershins - I love toe up, I love being able to try them on, etc. But... they just look a bit... handmade. There is a big line up each section where the edge of each needle was, if that makes sense.

Although I really love the way a gusset works on toe up. It's soo much more elegant.

As for Charade, I am no less in love with this stitch pattern and with the sock in general. however, the vagueness of the pattern at some stages, along with my usual desire to get to the end, get to the end, be finished already, and of course my worry about running out of yarn, left the heel flap truncated.

And while I prefer short socks, it's too short.

This is not how these socks are meant to look. This is how they are meant to look. (From here)

So. A frogging I will go, although not today, because today I am at my parents house for the long weekend. And to all my friends in China - Happy Birthday of Communism! I hope you are enjoying your week off.

Also, we went to go see Stardust. It was excellent. I've changed my mind - I really like Claire Danes now, as opposed tot hinking she was a bit whiney and sappy, when it came down to it. But she is so lovely and bitter at first in this movie, so biting, it's fantastic! And Robert DeNiro's character is a delight. I was a bit worried that this movie would be like one of those ones that tries to be the Labirynth, or another fairy-tale-esque movie, and just feels flat and boring. But they did a lovely job of creating a real, true world, with characters that I cared about, and a lovely plot arc. Plus, the writing is excellent, witty and funny without being trivial. If you get a chance, go see it. It's definately a cinema-movie, although I fully plan on buying it when it comes out on DVD.

And finally, I just found at that the reason that we South Aussies call Fritz Fritz* is because of a butcher who settled in my home town. I love that.

*What is fritz called when it's not fritz? Is it the same as Devon? When I was in China, this one time I had to stop in the middle of a big elaborate story to ask my NSW friend what the proper word for 'stobey poles' was. Turns out it's 'telegraph poles'. You learn something every day.

Sock issues

2007-09-27T09:57:00.000+09:30

Check out this hilarious post by the author of the socks I am almost finished - ie, charade.

They are lovely, lovely, I say. I've diddled with the pattern a bit, because I figured the easiest way to get them to fit my 9" around foot was to take the 6" around pattern and knit it on bigger needles, but then I fudged the stitchcount a little to bring it in, and then I've just noticed I made an error on the gusset - I decreased every row instead of every other row, but it worked out well and fits excellently, so now I have to rip the half gusset I've done on the other one, to make them match.

Also, I'm knitting them with what is left of the one skein of The Knittery's sock yarn. When I ordered it, they were between stock runs, and only had a couple of underweight balls left. I bought a ball in Forest Moss. It's lovely, although probably a bit bright for little old unadventurous me. I have been practicing with bright store bought socks, though. Today, I am pretty much dressed in greyscale, except that my earings and socks are both scarlet. It helps that the dress code at my workplace actively encourages 'crazy'.

Anyway, because the skein was underweight, I knit Widdershins, because it was toe-up. Because I like my socks short, I had about half a ball left (I weighed it). I haven't worn the widdershins, because the cuffs were too loose since I did the same 'needle-size to get gauge' dodgy. And I'm too lazy to fix this, even though I went out and bought shirring elastic especially.

I decided that I wanted to knit something else with this yarn. I hit on Charade. I. Love. This. Pattern. The only trouble is: well, there are two troubles. The first is a minor one - I think that this pattern would be better represented by a solid yarn. It's classic and simple and elegant, and although it still holds its own with the yarn, it doesn't shine like I know it could. The other is that I am up to the gusset on the second sock, as previously mentioned... and I am rapidly running out of yarn.

Aaargh!

I was firmly resolved to frog the unworn widdershins in favour of my more exciting socks. I was also going to use the rest of that yarn for a little heart sachet from the Christmas issue of IK, since green is a christmassy colour. Although, the green is maybe a bit acid for a heart. maybe I'll keep it as a representation of my own bitter soul....

Adding to my confusion, today I sought out the pattern for the Hedgerow socks, as I have seen on 144" of I-cord. If you go to the pattern and look at the picture - that yarn, it looks exactly like my yarn that I have! And I want a pair of hedgerow socks in green! The pattern is named after a plant-thing! Green!

I also have another ball of knittery yarn, in Moonlight, which is more true to my own personal colour-scheme, and so something that is more likely to get an airing on my feet.

So, my options are these.

1) I could frog widdershins, and finish Charade. Then I could knit Hedgerow in Moonlight, which was my original (ie, this morning's) plan, and actually sounds very picturesque, now that I type it. Hedgerow in Moonlight. I'm thinking that scene in Jane Eyre where Mr Rochester's horse throws him. How Gothic. What was I talking about? Right, socks...

2) I could frog widdershins and charade, knit Charade either in Moonlight or in something else entirely. Then I could knit Hedgerow in Forest Moss.

3) I could buy more yarn. Which will not be happening for a while because I always seem to be poor, and anyway, I just bought a jumper's worth of yarn the other day. And I'm saving for a computer and accouterments.

4)Gah.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I definitely want to knit charade again anyway. Maybe in a solid from Bendigo, which is not so expensive - I could probably do that soon. So maybe I should rip Charade (noooooo!). I really love this pattern.

The other trouble, of course, is that while socks make for great summer knitting, I only like to wear wool socks when it's actually cold, otherwise my feet get too sweaty. So, I will probably not be wearing any of these for another 6 months, minimum.

Advice is appreciated. And, for posterity, here is a pic of the beginning of Widdershins.

I'm thinking now I'll just frog the lot. That could be cathartic... or not. But then what will I knit with moonlight?! Maybe I should knit that first, to see if I like hedgerow pattern... gah. Gah, indeed.

FO report

2007-09-26T08:42:00.000+09:30

Pattern: Mohair Coat from Jo Sharp's 'Knit 3'

Yarn: Bendigo Woolen Mills Rustic 12 ply in 'Mariner' ( I don't know how many balls, I just kept ordering them until I finished. God)

Adjustments: none, except for the yarn substitute.

Model: My sister.

Time to finish: About a month and a half. Ish.

Comments: I actually wish I'd made a smaller size. It's huge! I do this all the time - and it's not just a warped sense of how big I am, I am going on the bust measurement. But even though I go out a fair way at the bust, I then go in at the waist, and so I could probably usually get away with a smaller size. (Hello, negative ease. I love you)

Because of the yarn substitute, it's heavy. Obviously 100% regular wool in actual worsted weight is going to be heavier than 100% mohair in not really but knits up like worsted weight. And since I knitted the biggest size, it's huge and it's started to be a bit saggy. I'm currently knitting one for my sister for christmas, in red, in her size, which is the second-smallest. It makes such a difference! For one, it's so much quicker... Also, it's much less heavy and I think will stand up to the weight of itself better. I will also tell her not to hang it in the wardrobe, just fold it, because I think that's what made the front of mine so saggy.

Conclusion: I still love it, it's super snuggly and warm. I don't know if it's a wear out of the house jacket, though, which is sad. I'd like to try it in the intended yarn, except that I would never pay that much for it unless I was damned sure I would love it, and also, mohair makes me itch.

We were going for a look-alike. How do you think we did?

My sister just loves the camera a little too much. She loves to ham it up, and also to get in the way of a photo of something else. Viz:

The photo I was trying to take:

The photo I took:

It's hard to get a decent shot of her.

Also of my cousin, who modelled the coat as well, and think she's in the Funky Squad, or something.

But I like this one. It's my favourite.

PS Dear Blogger. I hate you.

Hello?

2007-09-17T08:12:00.000+09:30

Hi, blogland. I'm here. I'm not dead, dying or injured. I just blogfaded for a while there. I've been gone so long there's icons on the task bar here that I've never seen!

See, I've moved house, and I am internet-free there, and will be for some time. I don't think I need to tell you how sad that makes me - although I'm over the worst withdrawl symptoms. The sweating has passed, and I only sweat a little now, when I think about how I could be working my way through bloglines instead of cleaning, on the weekends.

At the same time, I moved workstations, and now, every time someone walks into the general area, they can see what I'm doing. I hate blogging at work, in general. What I want from the blogging experience is a setlled-in, hunkered-down, concentrated experience. What I get at work is the opposite of that. The exact opposite.

However, I miss you all. I miss reading and I miss writing. I will not be getting internet at my place for some time - my computer could just about handle it, but a better computer is first priority, and moving was expensive. I didn't have a fridge or a waching machine, there's bond, there's other furniture. My finances have still not quite recovered - even yarn has been put off. The conclusion of this is, that until I get internet connected, I will make a vow. i will blog once a week, so that it is not so wierd to get back into it. This post does not count. This weeks post will be a retro-active FO post, since I have a few exciting things to show you. After that, where the wind blows, you know?

I'm secretly hoping that the blogging bug will bite me again, and I will be super eager to get into it. I think that will in fact be the case. I hope enough that it balances out how much I hate blogging at work.

It's good to be back, though.

I'm calling it

2007-07-25T08:31:00.000+09:30

Spring has sprung. I'm not kidding. Yes, it was only a few months ago that I was getting excited about red leaves on trees because that officially meant that Summer was over. Yes, it was only 25 days ago that I took these photos of my rainy home. But it's indubitable. Spring is here.

Sunday night, I got home after my long, happy weekend (more later) at about 5. The air was soft and balmy, the light was gentle and warming. Spring was in the air. You could smell it.

This morning for the first time in months, I didn't wake up dreading the emergence of my warm body from it's snuggly nest of warmth into the cold air. Yes, I'm a wuss. I hate the cold, OK?

So, I was enjoying winter. I love the rain on the roof. I love sups of hot chocolate and snuggly blankets. I love the freshness you get after rain and they way it smells. I love the way you can be warm in winter - in summer, you're only hot or cool.

But I guess I had forgot. I had forgot how happy summer makes me, just by being. I winter, I have to watch and listen for the things I love. But now, as the early fingers of Spring creeping in have reminded me.

They reminded me how, in Summer, when I step out of my front door, and the balmy air of twilight hits me, or the hot air of a 35 degree midday, I am happy. My soul sing with joy every time the twilight slants golden through the trees at 7 at night. Sounds sound different through summer air - you can hear the echoes of good times and good company as you listen to kids playing and people talking. Summer is my time. I love it.

Bring it on.

And the winning theme is: Geekdom!!!

2007-07-04T13:55:00.000+09:30

I have had 'Mad Dogs and Englishmen' stuck in my head for three days now. Why? I bought a new backpack, and it's Caribee brand. Everytime I see it, my traitorous brain goes 'hmmmm... caribee. That sounds a lot like Caribou. And what do caribou do? Why, they lay around and snooze, of course, because, you know, why not, there's nothing else to do.' Damn you, Noel Coward!! Damn you!!!!

Although, if the Church is right, I needn't worry about that.

I just talked to a woman on the phone whose name was Jayne. Spelt like that.

The other day at a party, someone asked me someone's name.

Me: Kelvin

Her: Oh. Like the temperature?

Me (without hesitation): yes

And she mocked me for the whole night for being an irretrievable geek.

I have knit the same sock 5 times now. First time, I turned the heel perfectly. Then it was too long, so I frogged it back. Then, it took me about 4 tries to get the heel done right, with the right number of stitches, etc. It was perfect. And too long. It's mate is all but finished, and perfect. Why, why, I ask!

I feel like patient zero. A while back, one of my friends to whom I often wax lyrical about knitting told me that she thought she might like to knit a scarf. She already knew how to knit, but was shy about actually making anything. I was quietly encouraging. She came over about a week later and admired my hats that I'd knit. She told me she wanted a hat, but didn't like tight beanies. A week later she messaged me to tell me that she'd bought yarn and needles. A day later she messaged me to say she was done. She'd knit a square and sewn it together, and it's the coolest beanie I've ever seen, and very Her. Now she's knit two scarves for her sisters and she's making some arm warmers.

My mother called me the other day to say that two ladies she went to church with were looking for patterns - one for knitted slippers, the other for warm socks. I found some good ones on knitty.com, and emailed her the links. They were exactly what they were looking for, and now my mother has ordered yarn to make jaywalkers. NEVER thought that that would happen.

My mother also told me that one of my aunts was talking about taking up knitting again. This aunt tried to teach me the long tail cast on when I was about 13. It didn't take, and she stopped knitting a while ago, when her kids were small. We had a family do on the weekend (hateful, is all I can say. Truly, it was hateful. Although I took some awesome pictures, some of which I have uploaded to Flickr) and I brought a bunch of knitting books. She's currently hunting out Jo Sharp pattern books, and my grandmother found it within her to tell me that she loved turning heels and that I knit wrong (I do. My grandmother can jump)

I returned home after that weekend to find my cousin hanging out at my house. She started looking through my pile of knitting books. She decided she wants to make a scarf. She asked me to give her knitting lessons - she can also knit, but hasn't for ages, and her tension is apparently too tight. So we've set up a thrusday night knitalong at my place, once she gets the yarn. While we were talking about this, her sister, who I live with, brought out a jumper she'd started knitting before she moved in. She hasn't knit a stitch since. Still no progress, but it's sitting on our coffee table, staring at her. It's only a matter of time!

Howard's Storage opened right around the corner from my house. I love storage with the same passion I used to lavish on stationery, and the same aqquisatory urges we all share towards yarn. It's a sickness. I'm in trouble.

Irony, anyone?

2007-06-22T14:03:00.000+09:30

Anyone else think it's ironic that blogger spellcheck doesn't recognise 'internet'?

I take it back

2007-06-22T13:40:00.000+09:30

So, I go to lunch, with my boring pasta and I'm-too-lazy-to-cook-real-food tomato sauce (not, like, ketchup. Like, canned toms, onion and olives) I'm thinking 'boring boring boring.' I open the fridge. It's filled with food. Filled. E, who I mentioned in passing in the previous post with a dash of bitterness for never giving me her movements, had catered for a seminar we held here last night. She cooks the best middle eastern food you'll ever eat, and she always over caters.

Lentil soup (which I did not partake of - I am still a bit iffy about lentils. My parent's lentil craze went so far as to include lentil pizza and I'm still not over it) meatballs, rice (stir fried then steamed, for extra fluffiness, with noodles and slivered almonds) roasted vegetables, and, to top it off, jelly and custard cake. It's like trifle, but without the space-wasting sponge cake (lowest form of desert ever) Soooooo yum.

I came back from lunch satisfied and full. More than that, though, I came back relaxed. I spent 45 minutes in a room full of warm sunlight, good food, and happy women. We chatted and laughed and ate and I feel so rested that it's like I've had a good long nap.

I love my place of work. Now, if only no one will ring it for the next three hours, it woud be perfect.

Things I am sick of

2007-06-22T12:07:00.000+09:30

:: People asking me if the email I've just given out is all in lower case. Why yes. Yes it is. Know why? Because emails are not case sensitive

:: People asking me if their Yahoo.com.au email address will be able to send emails to someone in London. Seriously?

:: People giving me WAY too much information when I ask if I can take a message.

:: People telling me their life stories over the phone.

:: The phone.

:: People coming and talking to me when I'm blogging. How rude, I mean, don't they know I get paid to fritter away my time on the internet? Did they miss the memo?

:: People not telling me what they're doing and then getting angry when I ring and interrupt a meeting. There's a simple way to avoid this. E, I'm looking at you.

:: People asking me to fix their phones for them.

:: Being able to fix people's 'broken' phones by turning them on and then off. I will never never never work in IT.

:: People thinking out loud on the phone or in front of me, thus preventing me from looking at pretty pictures of knitting on the net. Rude. Memo.

:: People telling me about the projects that they're panicked about and that I'm going to have to help out with - right at the end of the process which they haven't yet started, and which will take at least a fortnight. There's only so much room in my head, you know.

:: People standing too close.

:: People taking things out of my hands when it's nothing to do with them and I need it. Personal bubble, people!

:: This week. I'm so cranky. All I want to do is sit somewhere quiet and possibly dark. My brain hurts.

:: John Howard and cronies. Now they're going to send the army into the Northern Territory to protect Indigenous Australians from themselves and the symptoms of a broken system. It just seems to me that the last time the Australian government took drastic measures 'for the good of' Aboriginal children, it didn't go so well.

Things I'm not sick of (for the fair and balanced crowd)

:: Working in a socially aware and caring workplace. Although this does mean we have to talk about things which make me feel sick, like Johnny's brilliant idea mentioned above, and the new IR laws, etc, it's much better than not being able to talk about them for fear someone will make me feel like a raging lefty - in a bad way.

:: Not working in a workplace with people who don't know anything. My friend told me the other day that her workmates were having a conversation about how Big Brother comes from the Truman Show. Her workmates often ask her things like 'where's Hanoi' or 'Where's St Petersburg. Oh. So... where's Stalingrad' Or saying things like 'I want to have children so that when judgement day comes they can be raised by angels' I just don't think I could cope with that. Does that make me a bad person?

:: Chocolate

:: knitting

:: Breathing out in long, slow breaths. Maybe it's because I'm a little stressed, but this feels way better right now than something like breathing should.

:: The Internets.

:: Shopping on said internets.

:: Getting my parcels ordered while doing said shopping on said internets at work and sneaking peeks at it all day long.

:: Pictures of baby animals. Especially with illiterate captions included. (Altogether now.... aaaaaaaaaw)

:: Tiki bar TV. I love Johnny Johnny. I watched Red Oktober last night and tears came out of my eyes. Is it bad that I understood most of the l33t? I think it might be.

:: Geeking out with the one woman at work who understands what I mean when I use terms like 'flamer' or 'troll' or 'n00b' or 'html' or 'blog' or 'boing boing' or 'Cory Doctorow'. It makes me feel less alone.

:: Looking at other people's knitwear. There are a couple of people at work who regularly wear impressive knitwear - machine knit, but still impressive. I think I freaked one of them out a little by asking him to stop in the middle of the corridor so I could examine how his collar was attached to the rest of the top.

:: Going to see Kaffe Fasset talk tonight about colour (Yay! Oh, yay!)

:: The fact that it's lunch time and I don't have to answer any phones for at least an hour.

2007-06-18T09:04:00.001+09:30

OMG, OMG.

I just got into Ravelry.

I'm scared.

What if I CAN'T STOP????

Reasons my housemates think I'm crazy

2007-06-14T09:05:00.000+09:30

1. I knit. All. The. Time.

On Saturday I knit almost the whole right front of the jacket I'm working on. At the same time, I have picked up branching out, which I started a while ago. I must rip one repeat for every two I manage to do correctly, lace is soooo not my thing. And yet. I can't stop. I can't stop! The scarf is now long enough to go around my neck one and a half times - about half the length of a short scarf. Can't Stop. Also, I bought some sock yarn, which I now have to swatch and work out if this pattern wil fit my feet or I need to do a dodgy with the needles. And I have promised to knit another nautie for a friend to give to her boyfriend. When she saw my stash of (acrylic) yarn, she told me I had a sickness. In a loving way. In my defense, I have only bought two balls of acrylic in the last ten years, both for nautie. So there. Also, I think I may have developed an allergy to acrylic yarn. Everytime I work with it or wear it, my eyes puff up and get all itchy.

But THE POINT IS that yesterday, all I wanted to do was knit. I wanted to knit so bad. I'm sitting here at reception, and I'm thinking 'if I whip my knitting out here, will anyone care?' The answer is yes, because I have work to do. Just because I am not this second doing it, doesn't mean that sublimating my knitting desires by working my way through the 'c' section of my bloglines is a work-sanctioned activity. But the moment I got out of work, I knit. I knit while I was walking to the bus stop. In peak hour traffic. On a major road. And I didn't care. As I wandered past the library (knitting) I peered through the window and mused that there were a lot of people in there. Then it hit me. They were all knitting. So I'm guessing that there is a knitting group that meets there. So tonight I am going to go in and ask about it. I already have a knitting group, but I can only go every second Wednesday, because I don't drive and every second Wednesday they meet somewhere that is hard for me to get to. What is it with knitting groups and Wednesdays?

2. I take things out into the garden in the morning and take photos of them.

These are the cupcakes that caused all that fuss the other day

It got to Monday night (public holiday, long live the Imperial Monarch of the Moment) and as I surveyed my pile of finished pieces of Jacket, it occured to me that I had inteded to take photos of them. It was now the end of three days during which I was home in optimal photo-taking light conditions, and had I taken any photos? No. Well, I tell a lie. I took photos of this

My sister performing at Music in the Squares. Shes the first trombonist on the left.

We're very proud of her.

I also took a photo of this:

This is the pedastal on the statues of Queen Victoria in, you guessed it, Victoria square. It's just been cleaned. Can you see the red grafitti? You probably can't read it, though. It says 'Not the first Queen Victoria, not my Queen' And then, down the bottom, out of frame, it says 'free David Hicks'

Long live the Dead Monarchs

However, I did not take any photos of this until this morning

They're on the bonnet of my cousin's Valiant. Almost the same colour, ne? His new valiant (eye roll) is that exact same colour inside. No complaints from me, since it's my favourite ever. Anyway, that's the back, two fronts, and one sleeve. So close, people. So close. Last night I pinned it together and attempted to try it on to see if I had to do any adjustments, but it was so huge and heavy that it just pulled itself apart and I couldn't really see. Anyway, I've decided that since it's supposed to be a jacket, it doesn't really need to be close-fitting or whatever. Also, I'm lazy. That's a lot of knitting, y'all. I love this yarn. I heart Bendigo Woolen mills. It used to be my Cardigan for Arwen, but that didn't turn out so well. So I frogged it. Pictures later.

We were at my grandma's on Sunday for her birthday and she'd just finished a cabled cardigan. In Bendigo Mills wool, of course. I don't think she uses anything else. Here is a photo of her in it.

As an extra bonus, you also get, from L-R, Uncle Michael, Aunty Lisa (no, no idea what's going on there), Aunty Anne (mother of my two cousins I live with) Grandma in her cabled cardi, Uncle Daniel and my dad, Tim. Missing is Aunty Jane, Michael's twin. She was working. At IKEA.

Also out for a photo shoot this morning was my no-knead bread. I was toying with making this but it just sounded like too much organisation. Then I saw it in Australian Table, published by Coles. It was credited as 'adapted from the NY Times recipe' and in essence, it made it harder. So I went and got the original recipe and gave it a crack. The first time I was too lazy by the time we got to baking to look up what 450 degrees was in celcius, so it was a bit soggy in the middle. However, this time it is perfect, despite my cousin's reservations that it didn't sound hollow when she tapped it. I told her that the same could be said about her, and she could take her long line of bakers somewhere interesting, and stop touching my bread, please. So there. Anyway, this is its morning photo shoot.

I may have gotten a little excited. Here is what it looks like inside, too.

Mmmmmmmmm. Handmadealicious.

Feminist bakery

2007-06-08T14:03:00.000+09:30

It was someone's farewell lunch at work today. It was a bring-a-plate lunch. I made cupcakes. This was for three reasons 1) I like cupcakes 2) I rock at baking (seriously. Cooking, we need a bit more work. Baking, I am the Queen. Or, you know. Non gender specific monarch.) 3) I had previously make cupcakes for someone's birthday and brought them in to work, and this guy had flipped his lid and raved about them. So I thought it was appropriate.

But it got me thinking. Why is it that compliments on my baked goods (or knitted items) make me glow inside with warmth and happiness, yet compliments about, say, my great work ethic or my appearence or cheerful attitude (tongue only slightly in cheek) make me uncomfortable and self conscious?

Is it because I don't think I deserve to be complimented on those things, that they aren't good things or aren't good enough to be complimented? Or do I feel that they are not representative of me, of myself, or that they are not appropriate topics for compliments? If so, what does this say about me? What does it mean that I slip so easily into the 'woman's role' when it comes to real world things like these, despite being just about the biggest mouth in the city when these issues are talked about in theory.

I pride myself on my independance. And sure, I don't need any of the men in my life (well, maybe my dad). But is that just a result of circumstance, and is it even a good thing, per se?

It's not that I don't think that the things I have made with my own two hands are worth praise. I do. But I guess I just am not sure where that level is. I hesitate to bring up that I knit, bake, or sew (a little) because that is not the person I wish to describe myself as to strangers. If it's someone I already know, I guess I feel like they know enough about me to judge me fairly - even if they judge me negatively, it won't be on one single fact. They can place the fact that I can and do do these things in with a bunch of other facts and feelings and give it context. I do knit in public, but that in itself is an act almost of subversion, something out of the norm, and sort of nullifies its 'women's work' image. But knitting at home in front of the fire with your cat by your side while waiting for your baked goods to be ready to ice as I did last night? Not so cool.

I remember telling someone about how I feel like it took me a year for my self-image to recover from being in China. Partly this was because I was just so much larger than everyone else that I always felt clumsy and huge, not a part of the same whatever that everyone else was - so different as to not even be in the same category. There was the same effect when it came to gender relations. The guys loved being in China, because the girls (and guys) there treated them like Men. They were expected to behave in the way Men behaved in the West in the 50's and before - and the Chinese girls (I suppose I should be saying 'women', shouldn't I?) acted accordingly. This meant that the guys had to call their girlfirends at least once a day, were required to say 'I love you' several times a day, and generally had to act in a way that made my stomach turn. And yet, as much as they complained, they seemed to love it. I suppose that is not so surprising.

For us girls, on the other hand, it was different. We weren't guys. But we clearly weren't like the Chinese girls.* We didn't giggle. Or twitter. Or try to walk up mountains with high heels on and then complain that our feet hurt. We didn't adorn our bedrooms with pink, frilly things, or, indeed, wear pink frilly things. I myself wore exactly two skirts in China. One was a denim mini skirt. The other was a long, black skirt with heavy, minority-style embroidery all around the bottom. Neither of which was what you'd call sweetly feminine. While in China, I bought mostly men's clothes and shoes, since that was what fit me. That, and tourist stuff, so lots of out there chinese style tops with dragons on, etc. Or, you know, stuff that was a little too tight and didn't really show off my various bumps and lumps to their best advantage.

In fact, most of us gals there were fairly hard-minded and hard-nosed. It takes a certain groups of personality traits to end you up teaching English in China, especially in Guiyang,** and the ability to faint neatly is not among them. So they Chinese people couldn't treat us like they treated girls (WOMEN) there. So they treated us as Foreigners. Which meant, like men.

Even to the foreigner men, we weren't really the same as women. I mean, here, at home, you get the girls-who-are-friends and the girls-who-are-girlfriends - the old, 'Damned Whores and God's Police'*** thing I guess, but it's not such a hard distinction, and the grey area in between in pretty enormous. In China, at least with the people I was with, not so much. I was just a person, not a Woman. Which in some ways was awesome. But the thing is, I am a Woman. I don't want to not be a Woman. So it was hard to adjust back into being able to be a complex human being in public, if you know what I mean. All this was going on on a pretty subconcious level, to the extent that, although I saw what was happening and articulated much of it, I didn't realise the extent to which it was affecting me.

So you remember how three paragraphs ago I was telling someone about this. I was trying to explain everything I've just said, about how I am not now, nor have I ever been, a girly girl, while Chinese Girls (as a whole) are. So I told them that I don't 'wear skirts or scads of makeup or frilly things or dress up to look nice for a man or bake and cook or sew or..."

Then I realised I do. I do or have done all of those things, while many of the mostly hideously offensively girly girls I knew in China wouldn't know how to cook, sew or clean if their life depended on it. In fact, in almost every way I am much more of a traditional woman than any of them. I do cook, and bake - in fact, I enjoy it, as long as there's no pressure to get it on the table. I knit and I know how to sew and I have extensive knowledge about things like how to get stains out, or the many varied uses for vinegar in the house, or how to sew a button on. Does this make me a bad feminist? I would like to think not, no more than not hand-sewing her children's clothes makes this woman a bad mother. But maybe I am a traitor to my class and cause. You tell me.

And what is the difference between being a downtrodden woman who cooks and bakes for her man because she needs his approval and an empowered, emancipated woman who cooks and bakes because she likes to and finds it a relaxing creative outlet and who also finds it pleasing when people appreciate her hard work and effort. (The last one's supposed to be me, FYI.) Is it perception and intention? Because those are such fluffy things, so hard to pin down. What about the downtrodden woman who cooks and bakes because she needs her man's approval but who also happens to find it a relaxing creative outlet? Oh, if only the villains would put their black hats back on and start waxing their mustaches, life would be so much simpler.

I'm a believer in the hoary old line that Feminism is about Choice. What you choose to do. It's your right to choose to stay home with the family or to become a CEO. Both these things of course require much sacrifice and hard work, but such is life. If that's what you choose, you should have to opportunity to make those sacrafices and work hard, as long as you don't have to make more and work more than others (men) in your same situation. I believe, deeply, that women and men are equal, but not the same. I think if you try to treat people the same, you end up treating them unequelly - expecting women to fit into a man's world, usually (although not always). And to not acknowledge the biology of us as a species is just foolish. To expect women not to want to have children, or to want to spend time with them when they have them, is unfair to women because it disadvantages them by making them work against their genetic and biological make-up.

As I said, I like being a Woman, I like being who I am, and I am not going to give that up. Not even for true Equality. That is the kind of Equality that Mao^ wanted for China - bringing everyone down to the lowest common denominator, not lifting people up. But if that is the price of equality, does that mean we will never have it?

So much of who we are is tied up in our gender identities. And often these are good things, things we like. I was reading a book on the different ways Men and Women talk (it was called 'You just don't understand' and it was a fascinating read, but embarrasing on public transport) and at the end, the author was talking about assymetries in body language. When men and women hug, she puts her face against his neck - a one-down position that frames her like a child, the one to be protected. When they walk along, his arm is over her shoulders, or her arm through his. Again, framing her as one-down, inferior, in need of protection. These are things we do without thinking, that feel right to do, that we don't know how to do another way.

So what's my conclusion? Well, I'm not sure. But I do know that my cupcakes are all gone. And they were good.

This was on my friend's door.

Does anyone know who did it so I can credit it?

Can you read it?

*Note: I knew many chinese girls who weren't like this. OK. Several. But most of them did a Jeckyl-Hyde as soon as they got a boyfriend - especially a Foriegn one. Also, this refers only to Chinese girls in China, more specifically in Guiyang, where I experienced them. It should not be taken as a judgement of people of Asian descent. It is a genralisation about the Gender Culture in the city in which I lived.

** The pictures in the Wiki entry are stunningly beautiful. My overall impression of Guiyang was... grey. Bleack. Cloudy. However, the last two photos of the temple - that was right near the second branch of the school where I taught, I walked past it almost every day. It was beautiful.

*** Check out the woman in the 1975 edition's cover. She looks like she's having waaaaay too much fun... ;P

^Speaking of Mao - is this the best T-shirt ever, or what? I totally want it!

Photo-heavy

2007-06-07T15:01:00.000+09:30

Here are some photos to accompany my updates.

Cat:

And again:

And once more:

Hair:

How it used to look

How it looks now (only, not really because it needs a cut sooo bad. Next week, I promise, hair. Omg, I'm talking to my hair - no, I'm writing blog posts to my hair. Someone help!)

And, finally, some random photos from Mother's day of my extended family walking on the beach at Largs Bay:

That's my mum with her tongue out here

And this is my dad. No, I don't know what he's doing. Inspecting, I imagine.

Is this inappropriate?

2007-06-07T10:54:00.000+09:30

Ok. So, I want to talk about something here, because I started to write a comment in the femiknit mafia's post, and it got waaaaay too long. So I'm going to post it here are link it. I was reluctant to do this, because, as Emily said, I like to curate my world on this blog, in internet land, etc, and I don't really feel like this has a place here. It doesn't really have much of a place in my everyday world, either, just because it's faded. But I think it's important. However, I don't want this to be preachy, because, you know, I'm talking about... dum dum dum... Abuse.

Only, I want there to be no capitals, because this is not a story of Abuse and Suffering, nor is it a story of Triumph over Hardship. It was just something that happened, that's over now.

The story goes like this. I was abused when I was a kid. I must have been about 8; certainly no more than 9. Nothing major, nothing too vile. It was once off, and it wasn't a relative, which I think would be much worse - how do you tell someone about that when you're a kid and they are someone who is supposed to be protecting you? Anyway, in my case it was someone who volunteered at the place where both my parents worked, and they had him over for a day because... well, I guess they felt sorry for him. He was disabled, you see, physically and I believe a little intellectually disabled as well. For that same reason, I wasn't allowed to dislike him, even though I did. I had to be polite and all that, which of course is as it should be.

Anyway, long story short, he felt me up a little. My dad was home, but busy running around doing house stuff and looking after my sister who would have been under one then. I won't pretend it was fun. I won't pretend I coped with it exceedingly well as it was happening.

However, that night, I told my mum. And as far as I was concerned, it was over, then. It was done. It was no longer my problem. We ended up prosecuting him, (I just wrote persecuting - is that bad?) but only, really, because it turned out that he had done this before. Always to girls younger than me, none of whom had wanted to testify. So I decided that I wanted to prosecute because people who do those things ought to be prosecuted. As it turned out, he made a deal and I didn't get to testify in court. I was disappointed. Go figure.

I hesitated to bring this up, because I really don't think of myself as part of the category of people who have been abused - whatever that means. Anyhow, it certainly isn't a part of my life now, nor has it shaped anything to do with me since the court case was over. It did for other people, though. I know my mum was worried about whether I would be scarred by it. Also, the place where they worked changed almost all of their staff, and he came back to volunteer. The single staff member who remembered the incident was outraged that he was there, and spoke up. She was trounced, because, you know, he was disabled, he must be pure and good.

{This is not a denouncement of disabled people, either (wandering off topic) it's just that, you know, people in minorities can be bad too, or annoying, or incompetant. They are all just people with individual traits, and treating people like they are only what their 'group' is is as discriminatory when it's good as when it's bad. Only, you know, not as bad.}

ANYWAY.

The point was, I was not a gregarious child. In fact, when I think about what I was like the word that comes to mind is 'anxious'. I was verbal, I suppose, which helped me articulate what had happened and get it out of my head, sort of. What I think helped the most, though, was that I knew what sex was. My parents weren't afraid to talk to me about it (well, maybe they were, but they did it anyway) or answer my questions, and I had books and stuff. I think I had a fair grasp on what the story was, as far as a kid can do. I knew what it was supposed to be. I knew that touching down there was related to sex, but that this was not meant to happen, that what he did to me was wrong, and that my parents would think so to. It meant I could tell them and I knew that they knew what to do (even if they didn't)

My message to Mafia is not to forget: kids are smart. And they are strong. As long as the frameworks of support and love are there for them to lean on, kids can bounce back from a lot of things. And they pick up more than you think they do. I'm not saying that they know what to do in every situation, but if they know that you are there to talk to about it, to help them, then they can deal with a lot. I think Little Man would be fine, God forbid anything like that happened, with you and Wifey there to support him. He might not be able to articulate how he knows, but I'm sure if anyone tried to pull anything inappropriate, he'd know.

In conclusion: congratulations on your Dale!

Hello...

2007-05-23T14:27:00.000+09:30

So. Blogging ennui. I have it. In fact, I have internet ennui. I have spent the last few weeks on the internet looking at novelty sites (and a few excellent ones - omg I love this site) and lurking on other people's blogs.

On the upside I have got past 'a' in my bloglines queue (we're about halfway through 'b' if and if only I would stop adding more!

We've had a few dramas at work and the woman I work the closest with has left. Which means that I am now doing a lot of her job. In the future, I will be doing all f her job, plus some parts of another, more exciting job. For now, though, it is crazy, since her job involves a lot of sitting down and mine involves a lot of running around the building. Not so compatable. Hopefully they'll get someone in soon(ish) to do my old job, but it certainly won't be before June. Le sigh.

I could whinge about it a bit but quite frankly I'm over it, and it's not so bad really, it's just a bit painful some days. I'm tired all the time because the days are full on, and I haven't touched my knitting for two weeks, except last night when I did half a row and then gave up and went to bed.

The worst part is that because work has gotten crazier I don't deal with home being crazy as well. Not that my home is so crazy, really. My friend lives in this house - it's awesome, there's artwork and 'precious' sentimental objects everywhere, the place is like a museum of cool. But I just can't imagine sleeping there. My house, in contrast, is a sea of calm.

However. I live with two of my cousins, J (a boy) and T (a girl). two girls and a guy, sounds OK. But I may as well be living with all boys. T is a grot. Which is fine. I'm a grot (I was going to write 'used to be' but let's face facts here) It's just that I don't like to be a grot. I don't like to live in mess. In fact, over the last year or so I have come to hate it.

I want a nice environment. I'm not picky. I'm happy with our second hand furniture and the huge cracks in my bedroom walls faze me not a bit. It's the crap lying around everywhere I can't stand. It's the leaving the chair in the middle of the living room facing the wrong way beacuse you watched tv and you can't be arsed putting it back. Most of all, it's the leaving for work from a house that is a reasonably nice place to be and coming back to one which I cannot enjoy being in. Without getting to enjoy the brief nice bit because it didn't get nice until just before I crashed into bed.

So I'm overdramatising a little. But I'm just tired. It's not just that, it's the coming home to the TV and not having a break from it until I go to bed. Or, if she's at work, J is playing the loudest computer game he can find. Whinge Whinge fucking whinge.

To remedy this, I have started getting up a half hour earlier. I have starting doing tai chi (yes, I do tai chi. I learnt in China) again. Mostly in the mornings, but sometimes when I get home, too. This does two things. It lets me wake up with the morning, outside with the clouds and the sky and the birds cutting sick (I don't know what their deal is but apparently there was lots to talk about this morning) It also makes me much more relaxed. I used to catch the bus in to work, but now I get a lift in with J, who has started a new job near where I work. This is great in that it means I can now get up at the same time that I used to leave the house, but bad inasmuch as I get less quiet, just-me time in the morning to let my brain percolate or marinate or whatver innapropriate verb you would like ot use.

But, in the morning, the house is MINE. And that extra half an hour (Ok, sometimes I only make 15 minutes) makes an amazing difference. Also, the exercise is probably good for me, or something. I remeber hearing something about that, like, once or maybe twice.

Peace is what I crave, people. Peace and some serentity that you can feel, and calm and neat and...

Well, what I want is what I ain't got.

Anyways. I'm hoping to get motivated to do more cool stuff and then blog about it. I miss blogging. I totally didn't plan to blech out all my whinges, but I guess I needed to. Part of the problem is that they seem so petty, especially compared to whatall else is going on in the world or to people I know. And I'm not, you know, sad or whatever. Just tired. That's life. But it helps if you can tell someone.

Since I really put much effort into blogging these things have happened:

::Cut my hair really short. I've had a post about it saved as a draft for over a month now, with pictures and everything.

::Got a cat. Actually, it's T's cat mostly, for the purposes of possesesion when we part ways but joint for the purposes of care and, of course, love. Meaning: it disdains us equally. Pictures soon.

::I've joined a knitting group. I've only been once, but it was good and I'm looking forward to the next time I'll be able to make it (a week to the day)

::Looked at a whole lot of pictures of cats and dogs, sometimes with Engrish captions on them.

Life. It's grand

Hamlet, et al

2007-04-26T13:38:00.000+09:30

So, I went to go see Hamlet by the State Theatre Company last weekend. It was good. I have a post about how much I love the Festival Theatre and all the wonder ful things that I've seen there. but for now, let me just tell you a bit about Hamlet.

First, Hamlet. Is. An. Emo.

Has no one noticed this before? You know how the first scene is the ghost scene, and then the next scene you have the court and Claudius is talking, and Hamlet is off to one side. He gets a couple lines, then everyone parades off the stage, leaving Hamlet to his 'too, too solid flesh' solil.

So, in this production the stage is set up with this huge circular war-memorial, covered with Danish names (like Karl and Olufsson, you know the deal), in front of which the ghost scene takes place. This then opens up to reveal the court scene - and Hamlet, standing folornly at the front of the stage, staring, miserably, into space over the audience. He is dressed, head to foot, in black. No surprise, his father just died and he's in deep mourning. He is wearing, however, a black knee-length coat with its fur-lined hood pulled up over his head. With Cameron Goodall's gaunt, tragic face staring out.

At this point, let me say that Cameron was excellent. The whole cast was excellent (except for one person, *cough* first line in play *cough* overacting *cough* but we'll move on) but Cameron Goodall was wonderful. And I'm not just saying that because he went to my University and I now have a crush on him. No, sir.

The thing I liked best about his performance was how normal he was. He was perfect for the crazy scenes, the rants and the soliliquies, which I admit is important in your Hamlet. But when Hamlet is sane and normal... Cameron was sane and normal. you could imagine having a conversation with him in a bar or whatever. The whole cast were obviously comfortable with the language (you'd want to be) so that sometimes I stopped noticing that it wasn't the kind of language I use day-to-day. I went to go see it with my 16 year old sister (it was her easter present from me) and she didn't know the plot prior to seeing it, and she had no trouble following what was going on or being said.

I also liked that the Hamlet-Ophelia bit was played sweet rather than nasty. So I'm a sap. So what. In this one, he loses it at her because he figures out that they're being watched and he's had enough, not because of anything she does, per se. And his 'get the to a nunnery' was without double-meaning, for once. I cried twice, once when Laertes (who had a ripping Aussie accent and looked like Jean Reno) sees Ophelia mad, and once at Ophelia's funeral, when Hamlet looses it and comes out of hiding and L and H have a fight over who loved her more. This is the thing - even the overblown bits Cameron managed to pull off well, so that they seemed to come from the heart not from an overblown sense of drama.

I guess that's what acting is all about, right?

Anyway, the thing is, I really enjoyed the play, it made me realise how much I love theatre (when I was in high school I wanted to be a Stage Manager) but it's left me a bit sad. You see, it reminded me of when I was like that, of when everything was hugely significant, of when I was in high school and in love and deep and angsty.

I'm glad I'm not that now. I like my life without overblown drama and bad poetry and pretentious pining. But somehow I miss that depth of feeling, that sense of wonder that you don't get without the gloom. Over the gloom, but I guess... I just miss it. I feel old. I'm 23! I should still be swanning around imagining myself in love and feeling like I'm the centre of the universe!

Only, I just don't have the energy.

However, it was a timely reminder that life is not just for knitting and chocolate. Or, whatever. Martha Stewart and Simple Magazine.

On that note, I was thinking these thoughts and I came across this post. I think it is appropriately themed - obviously, since I commmented.

Also, I think I should tell you that it is raining, and it has been doing so since last night, and everything is wet.

It's so good... I've missed the rain.

Oh, the horror! The horror!

2007-04-20T15:39:00.000+09:30

Peoples... Fun fur and toilet seat covers SHOULD NEVER NEVER BE COMBINED.

Each substance, highly volatile on its own, becomes EXTREMELY explosive when exposed to people with any decency and taste, and may cause their head to EXPLODE!!!!

Excuse me, wont you. I need to lie down. In a dark room. With some sort of alcoholic beverage...

Breaking News: Stupid Internet Test Gets It Right

2007-04-20T14:03:00.002+09:30

You are Bettie Page

Girl next door with a wild streak
You're a famous beauty - with unique look
And the people like you are cultish about it

What Famous Pinup Are You?

I luff her, she is my hero... one of... anyway, let me put it this way: this picture was almost my avatar, but I thought some members of the patriarchy might take it the wrong way. This made me happy. Also, this:

You Are the Very Gay Velma!

She might not even realize it...
But Velma is all about Daphne... not Fred!

What Gay Childhood Icon Are You?

So the best one. Totally satisfied with this test.

I.... just...

2007-04-06T20:07:00.000+09:30

Oh.

My.

GOD...

Sequins and beads?!?!?

Art and life

2007-04-05T12:11:00.000+09:30

I just watched this slideshow about Van Gogh. I've never really been a fan of the man - or of his paintings, I should say. They either scared me, disturbed me, or left me a little bit cold and confused. Which was fine, a lot of art does that. Then I watched the slideshow. I'm not sure what the legal requirements are for showing paintings like these, but I'm going to put my favourite one up here and use their subtitle, I figure that ought to cover it, right? If anyone knows otherwise, let me know so I can take it down. (You should check out the essay, too. I love the boats picture and the Italian woman, and I can't explain how much I like this bedroom picture without at least a reference to how much I hate the one after it. Also, Slate rocks, especially Andy Bowers - rockage.)

Vincent Van Gogh, The Bedroom, 1889. Image courtesy Art Institute of Chicago and Neue Galerie, New York.

I saw that and I read the essay and I thought: you know, I think he's after what I'm after. What we're after. What I read so many posts about every day on the blogs of articulate, crafty (mostly) women. Speaking for myself, though, this is what I want.

I want a beautiful life. I want things around me to be beautiful. If that means orderly, fine, but if it means beautiful clutter, that's fine, too. Just not ugly clutter.

This is my front door from my kitchen.

I don't know why, but when I got up last

Saturday and the light was streaming

through, it made me happy.

Maybe because I was the only one in the house... I like that...

So I took a photo.

Which doesn't look anything like what

it felt like, but still...

I want to be able to see the colours and meanings of things shining through. I want to see them and feel them and make them a part of my story

This was one of many fabric hangings around one of the tents at Womad. Beautiful, non?

I want to share this with others - I want others to see the shininess I see, the colours and the beauty.

Some Shiny Things - Womad again.

My camera is shit at night...

uh, I mean, isn't it arty and pretty?

I want peace. I want a room like that where I can sit and think and look and feel. I want not to be harried and harrased, to have time to sit and think and breathe and feel and know. I want contemplation and maybe even relaxation. I want to know where I fit in the world, and since that changes everyday, I need that sitting thinking time to know where my new place is.

This is a Rosella in an Apple tree

Can you see his tiny tocks?

Can you see him?

I want to be able to show these wants to people. I want to put them out there so that others can see them. Then, if they share them I would like to know about it, to know that they feel the same way, share the same world. This doesn't have to be direct - it's enough to know that there are people there who know this world, too. I don't mean in an 'I am not alone' kind of way. More in a 'we are part of something special that other people don't know about it. Isn't it beautiful?' Blogging is part of this, but so is crafting and baking and all that.

Apples from my parent's tree

Some of which are now pie.

Well... were pie...

When I looked at Van Gogh's picture I felt things I had never felt looking at a Van Gogh before. I felt calm. And happy. I felt that feeling you get when it's a lazy summer afternoon and you're lying on your bed doing nothing much, just feeling the rest of the world out there doing nothing much, too. I felt that feeling you get when everything in the room with you is something you want there, when there's nothing left to change or move and you can just look at it. The feeling you get when you seam something perfectly, or m1 perfectly, without leaving a hole, or turn the heel of your first sock. I felt good.

FO! FO! FO!

But the thing I felt the most, even though there's not that much in the picture, was light. Not as in 'I felt light'. As in 'there was light. And I felt it.' Here is what I felt:

My parent's house.

I love it.

For a comparison, there's a photo from the same angle

in this post.

'Nuff said

Coming Out

2007-04-04T08:22:00.000+09:30

Knitting has always been private for me. When I first knitted, when I was younger, I used to work away at .Jean Greenhowe's knitted toys, in 8ply acrylic on 3mm needles. I would sit in my room and I would knit, knit, painstaikingly knit until it was done, and then bring it out for approval and perhaps some suggestions on how to seam it together. Or else, if I got stuck (what the $%&# is a SSK? How, exactly, do you m1?) I could ask my mother, who would help me out (she used to know the answer back then. Now, I find the internet a handier tool for explaining, for example, how to m1 without m. a hole, or how to find the right cast on for your project and learn it. But more on that later)

When I found out last year that I was A Knitter, it was also mostly private. Sure, I would talk about it, and members of my family and friends went with me to choose yarn and drool at knitting books (I was the only one with a saliva problem) but the actual knitting was mostly done in private. In the same place I used to do it as a child - sitting on a beanbag in my teeny, dark room, watching my needles flick back and forth, watching the fabric grow at amazing speeds - it will do that when you use knitting as an avoidance mechanism. Also, this time I had my iPod to listen to, I had Brenda and Jacey and Heather and David and Christina and Wendy, et al. This helped, partly because I learn best when I'm listening, I like to listen. Also, because it let me know that even though my sister mocked me for my knitting (it did get a little crazy there for a while, I'll cop to it) it was a good thing to be doing, a valid thing to enjoy. The things I made were good things and she should stop that mocking if she wanted any more scarves made. My sister is a fiend for scarves. She still mocked. But I got this:

See the start here.

Seriously, can you believe I knit that? This is going to get a post of it's own later, but for now, let's just revel in the glory of the time I had on my hands and the lovely lovely thing I made... sort of lovely.

Anyway, so now I knit at home, where I share a house with two of my cousins. For a bit of background, I don't know if I said any of this before, but they are T and J. (I feel a bit dumb doing the whole initial thing, but I think it's prubent and I can't think of any appropriate blog-safe, cutesy names. Suggestions, anyone?) They are brother and sister, T is the youngest in the family and J the eldest (of four). He is also the only boy of my generation on either side of my family - and his, I believe. Anyway. So, I lived with J before, when I was in uni. And one of his friends became my (now ex) boyfriend. Not so relevant, except that one of their mutual friends, E, bugged me. In fact, I hated him. He was misogynistic and condescending and he would come around NEVER LEAVE.

Ahem. Anyways. So last weekend he was over on the Friday. I don't mind him so much now. Partly he's not as disgusting, partly I don't rise to the bait. Partly I just don't care, especially since he no longer spends whole weeks at my house. I like my space, people.

So, I'm knitting, and they come in to the lounge room and start playing their computer game - it's a soccer one, if you want to know. There I am, knitting on my entrelac scarf, knit knit knit. (anyone else love saying 'entrelac'? It just means 'interlocked', right?) I'd just started, and it was looking unimpressive and prompting swearing. More later on the scarf, this is a metapost. Although, you saw it yesterday.

So, knit knit knit.

E starts asking about it. Mostly for something to do, I think, just for some conversation. His lead-in question was "why knitting?" I think that's a good question. I might have to think about it a little more, maybe it could be another post. I don't think I can even articulate all the reasons 'why knitting', even the ones I am aware of at the moment. I'm sure there will be more reasons that I discover along the way, as I increase my skill or just grow with it. Which is one of the things I love.

I keep getting disctracted, don't I?

The other day there was someone knitting on the bus on the way home. Brown wool, with k2/p1 ribbing alternating with eyelet lace. It was elegant and she knit so fast, so gracefully. The way I knit is English style, but I don't loop the yarn around my index finger and flick it back and forth like you're supposed to. Instead I use my thumb and middle finger to squeeze the needle so it flicks out and in, back and forth. Kind of like the way Stephanie Pearl-McFee says she knits, only not as traditional. I remember my mum trying to teach me the proper way to do it, but I couldn't grasp the forming of the stitch together with the flicky thing. I'm happy with it and it gets the job done, so why quibble.

I watched her knit all the way home, craning my head and peering through people to watch the needles flick and the lace expand.

The other morning it was cold. I can't find my scarf that I knit last year. I wanted a scarf. The only scarf I had was about 5 inches long and counting. So I took it with me. I whipped it out at the bus stop in front of my house. I knit. No one cares. I was surreptitiously scanning the people in the cars going past. They didn't care. Freedom! Now I had not only my iPod but also my knitting to occupy the sometimes-frustrating commute. I knit all the way there and all the way home. On the way home it's great because not only am I not bored, I get a head start on my relaxing-after-work stage of the evening because I am doing exactly what I would be doing anyway once I got home.

Then the other day I got to work and one of the people here says "I saw you knitting at the bus stop" Aparently it didn't occur to him to pick me up, but whatever. His partner was driving, so, you know. And he asked me a bit about it and although he wasn't any more condescending than usual, I bristled. I don't know if this was warranted or not. Today he saw me knitting at the bus stop again and did stop and pick me up. (There's a particular thrill when you are picked up by a sleek car with two gay guys in the front seat. I think it's called the public-transport-sucks-please-drive-me-to-work thrill) The two of them asked me how my scarf was going. Then they chuckled. Not a snicker, not condescending, but - I don't know. Not welcoming, either. Like "aren't you a little weird. That's sweet". Well, my work is full of people that are a little weird, so I guess I fit right in.

Thankfully now I don't get upset. Thanks to Brenda, I just think to myself: Poor dears. The resurgence of craft is a bit of an underground thing. I'm not surprised they didn't get the manifesto.

Thanks Brenda. You rock my socks.

For Jac:

I love it when you're dirty!

*ew, ick*

Aren't my sheets purty?

As you can see, it's a very taught and firm Hills Hoist, which leads me to believe that there has never been any children living in this house - especially since it's an old skool one - no bright yellow and green plastic for us!

Let this be a warning to you, people: this is the kind of incoherent post you get when you write it on and off during a hectic work day. Heed my warning and repent!

What I Saw on Sunday Evening

2007-04-03T17:31:00.000+09:30

Yes, yes, I did just show you my underwear on the washing line. Does it make it better that it's a Hill's Hoist?

On Peace and Gratitude

2007-03-28T08:19:00.000+09:30

So, the other day I'm on the bus, going to work. It was about a week and a half ago, so it was a sunny (note, it's raining now, but I'm over the fact that Melbourne seems to be exporting its wierd weather tendencies) and golden morning. But I was feeling a bit jangled, I was on public transport - you know the kind of thing. Woe is me, the hobby horse is forgot, etc etc.

So, I was listening to Hardcore History by Dan Carlin (great show, btw), and he was talking about The First World War, and how different it was from anything that came before, and how shocking it was to people's worldviews and that kind of thing. So he was describing it, and everything I've ever heard about the First World War, and some about the second, just all seemed to gel into my brain. Dan was talking about the experience of the common soldier, or something along those lines, and I realised, suddenly, that peace was, in fact, a wonderful thing.

Photo taken by me at Womadelaide

For someone who's grown up in a peaceful, accepting world, it's hard to imagine the way things are when war comes into your life. The woman I sit with at reception here at work is Bosnian, and I forget all the time that she didn't leave her country because she thought that Australia sounded nice. She left, with a young family and half a law degree, because she was afraid that horrible things would happen to her and her loved ones. I personally think it's wrong that we can be 'at war', and the most it affects us is that occasionally we hear a news bulletin, or there's a media scrum because someone was mucking around with his rifle in his barracks and shot himself. But I don't certainly don't want to live in the alternative - in a world or a circumstance where everything is filtered through the fact of War.

But I didn't think about that then. What I thought about was how golden the light was, and how peaceful and quiet the morning was, despite being on public transport. And how the day would continue to be peaceful, no matter how busy or stressful work was. How, at no stage during the day, was I likely to be blown up or otherwise injured. But it wasn't about the physicality of it. It was about the mental and emotional peace of my world. And how, so often, I just don't see it because I'm too busy inflating my own importance by making trivial events seem huge.

I suppose you could call it an epiphany, I suppose that's what it was. Suddenly I could feel the coty around me, people quietly on their way to work, living their lives. It was peaceful. Calm. Serene, even.

I realised, for the first time, what is really meant when people say that the soldiers fought for this. Fought for the world in which I live, more than the country that that world exists in. A world in which, after the war, they couldn't live, because of the things they had seen and done.

It's a world worth fighting for, and I can't tell you how grateful I am that someone did, and that that someone didn't have to be me.

Photo taken by me at my parent's place in the Adelaide Hills

Next post: back to your regularly scheduled levity!

Toilet Seat Covers- a follow up

2007-03-14T16:24:00.000+10:30

telfair said...
Oh. My. GOD. It makes me so sad to think about all the time and energy that went into those.

I mean, don't people have better things to do? Like, you know, sleep. And read blogs?

Becca said...
Wow...those are amazing. I accidentally set my room on fire when I was six with a toilet seat cover...they've scared me ever since.

How do you do that? Or maybe I don't want to know. My dad set fire to the chook shed with a candle in a wicker pram when he was little...

When I was little, I was staying at my Grandma's and my cousin who lived there wanted sparklers. I hated sparklers, but we had them anyway. Grandma lit my cousin's first, then mine. One of the sparks got me, and I dropped/threw it away from me - and it landed on my Grandma's foot. She was very nice about it, but I can still see the wretched thing landing on her foot - I can picture her shoes and everything. Needless to say, I am still not a fan of sparklers.

jac said...
Aieee! Fox Collection! I had no idea they still existed! ...I mean, um, what are you talking about?Man, I should pull out all the heinous and tacky needlepoints and embroideries I have, half finished (or not even that), that I thought were just the coolest when I was 14 years old. I'm pretty sure there's a sad teddy in a lamplit window. Oh the humanity...

You know, some of the stuff they have is actually pretty nice. The trouble is that there is so much dreck to sift through - and it's expensive crap, too. Also, while I quite like some of the things, there is no way I woudl spend hours stitching them, let alone hang them on my walls, let alone pay $100 or more for the privelage.

I used to be an avid cross-stitcher. But oh, the saccharine ickyiness. I realised as I looked at that catalouge the reason that people look at me askance when they find out that I knit and craft...

Apropos of nothing

2007-03-09T12:52:00.000+10:30

I was interested to read this post on 'another knitting blog' (btw, did you know that Jap pumpkins are not, in fact, racist. It stands for 'just another pumpkin' I love it.)

I haven't watched TV for ages. That's a lie. I have watched it over my sister's shoulder on occasion. This is partly because it elicits the sort of reaction that brings joy to the heart of an older sibling (lost of squealing to go away and even, on occasion, some flailing) but mostly because I come from a family where, if the TV was on, it was because something good was on. I remember standing at my door in the dark, watching 'The Late Show' on the directly-opposite TV through the hole in the door where the handle should be. I can still produce a convincingly-sprawled appearance of sleep in 3 seconds, from door to bed. So now, when the TV is on, basically my brain shuts down and I am but a helpless zombie to its irradiated glow.

It's not a feeling I like much these days.

On the other hand, I love listening to podcasts, and I do so at every opportunity. Podcasting saved my sanity, I am sure of it, the year that I was in China. I exaggerate not. China was hard.

When I came back I found that, when flicking through one of the many 'women's' magazines' I recognised not one of the people whose frocks we were supposedly approving or disapproving of. I was thrilled. On the other hand, I can tell you all about Kevin Rose and Leo Laporte, who Brenda Dayne and Sage Tyrtle are, and I get extraordinarily excited when either of them have guest appearances on, for example, Chub Creek. (Darkspeed is HILARIOUS) Almost no one of my acquaintance understands this. Never mind. They don't usually understand the knitting, either, although they are more supportive of that, as long as I don't talk about it for too long together.

In other news, I would like to send a few curses along to Jac, who informed me that David Jones was having a sale on some items I was in the market for, so that I left said store $120 dollars lighter and four bras the richer. Then again, I am feeling very supported today, which is a nice feeling, so maybe it should be thanks instead. I thought all of you could do with an update on the state of my bosom...

Also, my friend who works cataloguing books to be sent out to libraries (or something) sent me the link to this the other day:

I loved that, as soon of she saw this, she thought of me. This may be because one day, when I had just discovered that I was a Knitter, I dragged her to Dymocks and made her look at knitting with me, all the while telling her about Nancy Bush and Elizabeth Zimmerman (two other people who make up my personal galaxy of stars) I also had the pleasure of telling her that I read Alison's blog and that she was very pregnant (she has now had her beautiful baby girl, and it's all very exciting.) I'm not sure what it is about pregnant craft-bloggers, but there seem to be a lot of them...

Lastly, for those of you who do not listen to 'Cast On', or who otherwise have not heard this, you just have to have to check out this link and listen to 'I want to be a Republican' I've never laughed so hard at a bus stop in my life...

What's wrong with this picture?

2007-02-28T09:36:00.000+10:30

Anyone? No? How about this one...

What's wrong with it, is, it EXISTS. I'm sorry, but think about the steps this had to go to for you to see this photo. First, someone had to think 'Hmmmm. You know what my toilet needs? A toilet cover. Now where can I get... I know! I can needle-point one! Now, what would I put on it?' Well, dolphins, of course, to match the rest of the bathroom. THEN, this person had to stitch it. They had to find some canvas and plan a pattern and sew and stitch.

I wonder how long it took them?

Then someone at the Fox Collection had to see it, and say 'you know what? I think people will pay 50 dollars for that! But we need variety - can you make another one?' Then, a kit had to be made up, packaged, the warehouse stocked. The shrinkwrapping alone must have taken days. And then they found a bathroom with a floating toilet and took a photograph (they forgot to remove the bowl freshener for the fish one) and they put it in their catalogue.

It was there last time, but I was hoping it was just a glitch and they'd revert to their usual high standard of... er... Unicorns, snow tigers, and Princess Di. But apparently enough people loved this kit for them to want to run it again. I just... words fail me...

Thank heavens for subversive cross stitch. That's all I can say.

Your iPod is a window to your soul

2007-02-23T10:16:00.000+10:30

I freaking love my iPod. It’s a heap of GouSi, but I love it anyway. The top is buckled, the corners are dented from all the times I’ve dropped it, the hard drive freezes continually, I can only see 1/3 of the screen (the middle third), and the sound no longer comes out for the left ear. But I love it.

Yesterday as I was walking to work the magic of shuffled music brought me a magical playlist. First we had ‘My Baby Just Cares For Me’ as sung by Nina Simone. Next we had ‘Secret Love’ by Doris Day (nothing like an academy award winning song to start the day, is there?) closely followed by the same song jazzed up by George Michael. I was hoping for ‘My Baby Just Cares For Me’ by George to come up, but instead I got ‘Yeh Yeh’ covered by ‘They Might Be Giants’ and then ‘My Baby Just Cares For Me’ (Come on, sing with me… Elizabeth Taylor is not his style… and even Ricky Martin’s smile… is something he can’t seeeeee, something he can’t seeeeeee!) Then some less exciting songs by Noel Coward and a Jonathan Coulton gem (although not Code Monkey, unfortunately. Freaking love that song; not as much as I love the speedmonkey remix, though.) Then the hard drive froze.

Some cursing ensued (mother-bleeping piece of Gousi)

Fortunately, after resetting, Marvin made it up to me with another Doris special, Sentimental Journey this time. (What, my iPod has a person-name, so what. And just because my computer is called Eddie, doesn’t mean I’m a complete loser. Lots of people list Douglas Adams as an influence… don’t look at me like that! Would it make you feel better or worse to know that two of the servers here at work are called Isengard and Orthank, and that before we upgraded many of the individual workstations had names like Frodo and Gandalph… it makes me feel worse…) We then had 'There Is Nothing Like a Dame' covered by Reel Big Fish and gotten off of the Welcome to Woop Woop soundtrack. Then we broke our nostalgia streak with ‘trampoline’ by the Grates, but I was happy with that. So what if I was singing ‘use your bed like a trampoline I said, higher! Higher!’ All day. That’s work appropriate, right?

I love you, Marvin.

2007-02-17T10:22:00.000+10:30

It's 40 degrees out. And suddenly, I have an uncontrollable urge to knit a blanket.

I blame Alison. The good news is, should I choose to knit one, I am reliably informed that it will only take me 90 days to 'yarn' it.

2007-02-16T09:40:00.000+10:30

I went into the bank yesterday to get some change. The woman messed it up and had to start again, so I had plenty of time to look around. There’s not much to look at in a bank, so I noticed the line of drawers behind the tellers. One of them had a sign reading “CALL DRAW”. I enquired about it. All four tellers turned to look at it with blank expressions. No one moved for almost a minute until the young, Asian girl at the end figured it out. “It should be drawER” she supplied.

I catch two buses in to work. One to the city, and then one out again. Usually they match up nicely, but sometimes, my first bus is late (like this morning) or the traffic is especially heavy (like this morning), and I get off the first bus to see the second sail past me in a blithe and uncaring manner. Today we were stopped at the traffic light right before my stop for what felt like forever. I was starting to get a little cranky (as I am wont to do) when I heard someone echo my thoughts. “Change please!” called a voice. I glanced around. “Changing would be good!” It was the driver. He puffed out a sigh. “Globuss, Changussss!” he called, in a voice not unlike Alan Rickman. Someone snickered. When, eventually, the light did change, he let out a high-pitched ‘Yeeeeay!’. There were titters, and even a giggle or two. I smiled and was glad of a brightened morning. And I did make my bus.

Images of eye and mind

2007-02-14T17:31:00.000+10:30

Last Saturday I went to a birthday gathering for my friend. I wore my pirate outfit. To clarify, this consisted mostly of some boots that I bought a while ago with no heels (balance is not one of my strong points) and a turn down flap at the top, as well as a plaid skirt that I bought in an op-shop. When I bought it, the skirt had no waistband, only a stretch of fabric with raggedy edges. I cut it and sewed it over before I moved out & away from my mother's sewing maching. I wore it to the outing with the elastic held together inside by a giant safety pin that used to hold up my nappies. Appropriate? Almost.

I also wore a white shirt with a bunch of buttons down the front and a mandarin collar that my Grandmother second-handed to me a few years ago. Then I added a sea-shell necklace that one of my friend's gave me as a parting gift when I left China, and some earings that my sister gave me on my return. They are shaped like tiny cutlasses, and I have never worn them before. They prompted my friend to tell me that I looked 'like a carribean princess'. I took that as a good thing, but you never know with her...I didn't have anything appropriately petticoat-like, but actually that might have been going too far, anyway. Baby steps.

I'd apologise for what is a very out-of-character monotribe about clothing and accessories, but this is my blog, dammit, and making an outfit counts as craft, I've decided. Anyway, the upshot is that I looked cool, felt cool, was cool. That outfit rockes. I am definately wearing it again, and I absolutely longed for a camera, partly because I wanted to share the effect with blogland, since I feel that this coolness was only made possible by the things I have seen here, and partly because I wanted to share it with my future self, to say 'see? You can wear interesting things and look good in them'

I caught the bus into town, and then I walked to North Adelaide. I walked along King Willian Street, past Parliament House. I passed the Festival Theatre. Boy, I've had some good times in that building, seen some great things. If you click on this link, you can see a 360 degree view of the theater and surrounds. That big lawn was covered in people, mostly sitting in those ridiculous low chairs you get when people who like chardonay go to outdoor events. It was, I found out later, the Symphony Under the Stars. There was a big stage set up on the lawn, and beautiful sounds were coming from it, violins sounding like they are supposed to - lush and mournful and joyful and deep. The top of the stage had one of those generic white awnings over it that you get at outdoor concerts, and it was all lit up with blues and purples, contrasting beautifully with the bright orange of the sky. Just behind the stage was the Torrens river, and a huge flock of seagulls was circling over it, seeming to swirl above the stage, as if catching the riffs; or maybe flocking for a rare musical treat. The Torrens itself was beautiful - yes, I know, shocking! But in the twilight you can't see the rubbish and the wrong, wrong colour - you can just see the light glimmering and shimmering, the art installment of lit-from-the-centre paper boats (made of metal and plexiglass) and the fountain spurting away from the middle of the river.

I longed, longed for a camera. And then I thought about it, and I realised that although I could show you what was happening, I couldn't capture the graceful movement of the seagulls, the beauty of the ever-changing reflections from the water. I couldn't show you exactly how the colours in the sky were changing, or share the soft, warm breeze with you. A photograph can't tell you about the buzz in the air as people gathered in the warm evening, or how wonderful it felt to have space all around me, and nice things in that space.

I thought about how Telfair told me "Don't worry about not having a camera. You draw pictures with words" And I thought about how, even though these words still can't quite tell you how wonderful it was to be there, then, they can do a better job of it than pixels can. At least in this instance.

A picture is sometimes worth far less than a thousand words. As I walked past the statue of Don Bradman, I considered how a photo of said statue wouldn't begin to tell you about all the associations that sparked off in my mind - or about how I immediately looked to the other side of teh road, where I could not quite see the war memorial and its rose gardens.

I guess some things need pictures. Others need words.

That said, I am looking forward to next week when I will be going out and purchasing a camera. Probably not the uber-expensive one I am lusting after. But a halfway decent one. Because, you know what? I would still love to have photos of that night. I would like to have them for me, because I do know what that statue means to me, how it felt to be there. And I have a terrible memory. An image is only worth as many words as you have to explain it.

BTW, in case you were wondering, the party was good. Nice dinner, nice people, then we went out to a club where I got hit on by and old guy named Dominic. Clubs are sooooo not my thing...

Miscellania

2007-02-13T15:31:00.000+10:30

Hey, blogging buddies and knit sibs. Have you missed me? I’ve missed you! This no internet at home thang is getting me down. I wonder how much it would cost to get it laid in? Hmmm…. I’ve spent most of the day with bloglines open here at work, but although it’s no biggy to read it when I have no work, I’m jumpy and nervous and I feel bad. I feel like I’m wasting my time, when what I want is to get a coffee and jump feet first into blogland, bookmarking and cutting/pasting to my heart’s content.

That said, some of the things I have seen have brought my inspiration to craft surging to the forefront. It isn’t that I want to steal people’s ideas. Although, of course, I do. It’s that seeing what other people have done makes me think I can do it too, even if I can’t. It makes me remember the thrill of the FO, the calm of creation, the buzz of project planning. I’m dying to get a sewing machine, too, and see how long it takes before I sew my finger to something.

Sunday night I was feeling flustered and discontent, a result of having spent almost the entire day on the computer. I picked up my kittyville hat, began to knit, and calm descended. Not magically, not immediately, but with every stitch, each round, the swirls of thought inside my head that found it impossible to settle began, miraculously, to do so…

I found my cardigan for Arwen in a bag. I think I’ll have to unravel it a bit, the short rows seemed to come out the wrong number. But I think I might get cracking on it again. And I’m thinking of ordering some more wool to knit my Jo Sharpe cardigan again – with custom shaping on the waist, and without being afraid to make it longer. I’ll still have to work out what to do about the shoulder shaping – it’s a bit scarier – but maybe I can ask my grandma about that.

I really really want to stop into spotlight on my way home – I need a different size of DPNs to finish the kittyville hat, and I want some nice sloppy satin ribbon to tie back the girly gauze curtain in my room so I can let some sunlight in. But I am poor… very poor. I just handed over some $155 to my boss so that she could by a womadelaide ticket for me – my workplace is placing a group order, which means we get a discount, but it’s not a good week for me to be doing that. I got payed for my first two days of work and now I have to wait another fortnight for my next (huge!) pay. Let me clarify. It’s not actually huge, but for me, used to living on a student’s part-time payment, it’s huge. Also, I have a fairly minimal expense outlay. Comparatively, anyway. So, although I am determined to save at least a little each week, and despite the multitude of events I want to go to in the coming months (damn you, festival city! Damn you and your ridiculously appropriated moniker!) I should have enough left over to suitably indulge myself in craftiness. Also, I no longer have to sneak packages past my mother, lest she chastise me for my extravagance.

There’s a DK’s near my work, too. That’s a fabric warehouse thingy… it’s one of the few places left around here that has a decent range, and the last time I went their prices were excellent. Of course, that was when my mother was making my formal dress, in Year 11. That would be…. Uh… 6 or seven years ago. Still. They’re open till 5:30, so I could just make it after work, or else I could always go one my break. Except I enjoy the lunch room – there’s usually something hilarious going on in there of an afternoon.

I’m exhausted, though. It’s been hard adjusting to full-time work, it’s hard getting around without a car, its hard finding energy to do things after work. It’s hard buying groceries, again, sans car. It’s hard finding enough business-like things in my wardrobe to not repeat myself too often. It’s hard being white and middle class, people. It’s just hard.

But in all seriousness, I am enjoying my new job, my new home, the possibilities that are inherent in both these things. Today I am tired, but soon it will be time to go home. And then, I can sleep. Or, I could craft. Whichever seems likely to revive me the best. I can’t wait

Just in time for Chinese New Year...

2007-02-03T12:27:00.000+10:30

I don't know if you know, but most of the traditions surrounding Chinese New year involve various incarnations of 'out with the old, in with the new'. I'm all about the newness, albeit slightly used newness.

I have a new house. It is an old house (There are cracks in most of the walls, and half of my room looks like it's about to fall off), but I have never lived there. Four of my cousins have though, and two of them still do. I'm enjoying seeing all my stuff that has been stored for two years, although I have no internet, and bloglines is piling up my feeds. I'm also loving cooking again. I may have gone a little nuts on the cupcakes. Yesterday my cousin introduced my to her friend as 'this is my cousin who lives here. She makes cupcakes.'

I have a new job. It is just doing admin which is totally not what my 4 years of uni qualified me for, but they're paying me. Also, and more importantly, it's a great organisation with wonderful people. I don't really want to talk about it too much because a) it's probably not good policy to talk about your workplace in internet-land and b) It's not crafty. Unlike so much of what I've been talking about lately, I don't think. I will say, however, that it's very close to this shop, and I have a feeling I may be paying a visit. When it cools down - it was 36 yesterday, and Monday will be 38. (that's Celsius) I'm not happy about it.

So, with all that crazy, there's not been much crafting, unless cupcakes count. I've buried my Arwen under some miscellaneous stuff, and I have knitted a few more rows in the official kittyville hat which I started recently, but I'm up to the decreases which means at least minimal concentration is required. Does piling all my craft-related stuff in one corner of my room count? It takes up a lot of room. I have big plans for my second-hand-new wardrobe, I want to cover the doors with fabric and batting to make pin-board-like surfaces, but I don't know if it's even do-able, and it will definitely have to wait. I'm exhausted.

I did go see Pan's labyrinth, which I was all excited about thanks to Emily, and it didn't disappoint, although it was darker than I expected. I might go see it again, even. I had a knit-wear/colour review planned, because the costumes were awesome, and that's the kind of thing I notice, but it will also have to wait. Maybe if I go see it again, and it will be fresh in my mind.

Anyway, that pretty much assuages my blog guilt. (does anyone know how to say 'assuages'? I sure don't.) For now, and in case I don't speak to you all before Feb 18th, I'll just say 'GongXi FaCai'. That means, roughly 'wishing you wealth'. So I can't speak French, I'll just have to take my show-off chances where I can get them... it's the year of the Pig, too, that's me! (the star sign, not... actually... ) That's right, I'm too good to be true!

WARNING: not a celebratory post. Some strong language. Contains Themes. May distress young children and zealots.

2007-01-26T16:46:00.000+10:30

Happy Australia day, everyone. I know you're as excited as me... which is not very. I know I should care, but quite often I don't know it is/was Australia day until someone else brings it up. Then their reply is invariably 'well, why do you think we have a public holiday, then?' I don't know. Maybe some idiots are riding horses around a track, or perhaps we've got the day off because some woman born into a special family has a birthday somewhere close to this date. There are a lot of public holidays I don't care about.

Of course, this time last year was a big deal. I arrived home on the day before Australia Day, and the holiday was never so approproate in all the history of its celebration - no, not even when they called it 'invasion day'. My Australian friends (three) in Guiyang were very upset about being left behind on the annual day of... what? Barbeques? Endless themed playlists on the radio? Half-assed concerts?

Let me explain myself. I love my country. I really do. I love it with a passion that frightens me. For a large part of my time overseas, while I was happy on a day-to-day level, on a deeper level I was miserable. Many people don't know where they belong. I do. I belong in Australia, in South Australia, in the Adelaide Hills. This is my home, the home of my heart and all that soppy stuff, and when people talk about Indiginous Australians pining away when put in prison, a part of me understands.

Further, I love the culture of Australia, I love its people (mostly). Yes, I hate our Prime Minister with a passion, but most of that is because, well, he's fucking up my country. It's a very personal hate. I love our history, even the unsalibruious parts.

I love our language (maybe I should make a resolution to use it more - strewth. Bonza. Bloody Oath.) I love our traditions, such as they are, and I love our attitude. I never thought all those stereotypes were true, but let me tell you, going overseas makes you see them, like it makes you notice the accent (which, I might add, can be heard across a crowded room. It's that nasal quality.) Although I consider myself quite highly-strung, in our little office overseas I was by far the most laid back person.

What I do not love is advocation of our country over all others. I happen to think it is, in fact, the best country in the world, but if you think yours is better - great. I'd be happy to talk about what makes your country great, too. I love my country in spite of it's flaws (one of which starts with a 'JH') I love it too much to pretend that those flaws aren't there, because I want to make it better. I will never put an Australian flag outside of my house because - well, because it quite frankly is not the Australian way (whatever the hell that means). I don't need a piece of material with the Union Jack on it to remind me what country I come from, thankyou very much.

Less depressingly, I also do not love organised celbration. I am not a crowd-loving people person. I am, in fact, a sit around, drink some tea, kind of gal. (I freaking love that. I just love it) Also, I am contrary. Require me to be enthusiastic, and I will fold my arms in a recalcitrant manner, and 'humph'. So, Australia Day? Not on my list of exciting celebrations.

Actually, I think this and my New Years comments are why I feel so strongly about the Christmas season. December is when I do all of my New Years/Australia Day appropriate thinking. It's Christmas and my Birthday, it's hot. It's nostalgic - those long summer nights sure bring back the childhood memories, don't they? It's a set time each year, and I spend a lot of the month thinking about where I am this time around, and why I like it, and why I want to be in this beautiful country of mine, and not in someone elses beautiful country. That is why, although most of my eyar overeas passed fairly smoothly, the month of December was sheer hell. It was cold, it was depressing, it was not what December is supposed to be.

Anyway. I had a question. It's a netiquette question. It's about comments. I love to comment on other people's blogs, although I try not to do so if I have nothing to say. what I like about it si that I do have something to say, and that sometimes, when I say it, other people listen. Did that make sense? Anyway, I talked about this last post, blog love, yadda yadda, blah. So, anyway, I know a lot of people talk about trying to reply to every comment. Sometimes people leave an email address along the lines of 'no-reply@blog.com' in which case, obviously, no reply is called for. Checking out other's blogs is nice, but as yet I have only had one comment form someone whose blog I do not already read.

So my question is this: when I comment on a blog, and the author replies to me, should I reply back? How long does this go on before it becomes weird and annoying for the person on the other end?

Now that I type this it doesn't sound very important, does it? I have a bit of guilt because I've had a couple comments I haven't replied to in a row, because I read those people's blogs, and I feel like it's not really necessary to reply - we are already interacting. Anyway... I guess I'm just a geek.

In other news, I'm moving tommorrow! Very exciting, but it means no internet for at least a while. I don't know how I'll survive, although i am informed that the internet does not, in fact, supply oxygen, and that non-internet survival is technically possible...

And something for the road: My grandma (who is soooooo cool - more about her some other time) has a habit of giving things away. Since she's lost a whole bunch of weight lately, some of her clothes can now be legitimately be passed on to me, the largest of my generation. I saw her on the weekend, and I scored two shirts for my interview on Monday and a top. The top is black and white stripes, 3/4 sleeves (which I hate, usually), and a sort of turquoise/teal stripe under each arm and for the zip thingy. Placard. Anyway, the point it, the shirt is made by a company called Black Apple, who if theyhave a website, I can't find it. So I put the thing on, and do you know what the first thing that went through my head was?

"*gasp* I'm Inside a Black Apple"

I'm such a geek.... :-D

All cartoons from inkcint.com

We love knitting. Doesn't mean we don't love our grandmothers.

2007-01-21T15:23:00.000+10:30

Some grandmother knitting love.

I think, apart from the fact that, as I have previously mentioned, my grandmother is waaaaay cooler than me, I, along with January One, am sick of the 'beginners knitting' books which contain few if any projects worth knitting and are rude and condescending. Even (especially) teenagers learning things don't want to be talked down to, so why do these books do it? I know not all beginners books do. But the ones I love are the ones that assume that you want to learn, that you can learn, that once you master the knit stitch you will want to learn other things, too.

In aid of which let me tell you that I have just this minute learnt the long tail cast on from with the aid of knitting help, and I am in love. I literally gasped 'oh my god' as I managed to get it to work. I bounced on my chair. It wasn't so much the technique (although, can you say 'awesome'?) it was that I learnt something new. I love that feeling. Next on my list after quilting, I am going to learn to crochet. Yes, that's right, you heard me! Yes! I am a fearless crafter!

I found it!

2007-01-20T18:25:00.000+10:30

I saw this on a link from someone else's blog and I've been thinking about terrariums ingeneral and little lambs in particular all week!

Link to the flickr photo

Link to blogpost

Feel the blog love

2007-01-20T17:29:00.000+10:30

I didn't realise how much I would love comments. Or how much I love it when I comment on someone else's blog, and then they reply to me. It makes me feel - I don't know. Like this isn't just wanking in cyberspace, you know? Not that I started a blog to be famous and well-liked, or anything (you know, apart from in my dream-land where everybody loves me anyway) I started it with only me in mind, and if other people happened accross it, that would be great.

The thing is, even when I have no personal contact with people, just reading their blogs makes me feel... special? Oh, God, this is definately leaning into pretentiousness. I suppose that was unavoidable - anything meta, any talk about connections with people over great distance, etc, is bound to. Partly I love having a personal 'in' on events elsewhere. I learn best when there's a story involved, which is why I am great at history and not so much at maths (or remembering dates in history. But I can tell you everyone's names!) So i love being able to tell people that there's still smoke over Melbourne because Jac told me so, or that there's a warm snap in (parts of America). I know. I read it on Bittersweet.

But the thing I love best is something that I think I'm making up in my head. Which doesn't make it any the less true. (right?) What I love best is that read these blogs written by (predominately) women who are intelligent and emotional and articulate and resourceful and crafty and who have real lives and who write about real things. And they let me visit their lives for a while - bits of them, anyway. I don't pretend that I know them. But I know some things about them, maybe things that their real-life friends don't. And I love reading these blogs. But what I love even more is that when I'm crafting or trying to do something I haven't done before and it's not going well, or maybe I'm just having a bad day, I know that all these faceless women out there are wishing me well, if only in an abstract kind of way. OK, that's kind of a creepy image. I hope you know what I mean. When someone whose blog I read has had a bad day, I wish them well. I wouldn't fly all the way to see them and tell them that, but I might take the time to comment or email them with the sentiment. And I like to think that there's this great well of blogging goodness, floating in the land of abstracts, this warm, fuzzy monster made up of the thoughts we send to each other.

Okay, definately crossing the line into wankerville, here. But it's true. I guess that's why something like this is so upsetting. Because if you don't want to contribute to the fuzzy-abstract monster, people, then just go away quietly and do something else.

In other news (I use that phrase a lot here, don't I? I never say it in real life. Why would I?) it's been raining on and off for two days or so, here. It was muggy as hell this morning. I don't know if hell is muggy, but it probably is. And then the rain set in, and it's like freaking June here. It's nice, actually. It's been that kind of comfy weather, where you want to stay inside and make soup and maybe bake something, or read a book next to the window, wrapped in something comfy like... oh, I don't know, a flannel quilt? *pause for dramatic effect* Pity I've only just started it, huh?

Yes, that's right. I've started my quilt. My mum's friend who quilts (let's call her A-M, shall we?) came over and helped me work out what all those words that I thought I understood meant when arranged in that order. And thay say knitting is another language! Anyway, it's not even fully cut out, and the rotary cutter is a bit scary, and there were a few minor disasters (had to live up to the name of my blog) r.e. cutting the wrong size and then not having enough fabric for the next bit, but otherwise, very exciting! It may just be finished by winter which, if this weather is anything to go by, will be stinking hot!

And now for something completely different...

2007-01-19T14:35:00.000+10:30

Nothing. Well, not really. But I feel blog-guilt. The thing is, although I do have things to say, I don't feel like saying them. I am still camera-less, and I miss the images. Not just as pretty things to look at, but as punctiation for my blog. I want to use them the way Julia does. I don't feel like i can tell you the things I want to - things about colour and craft and the place I live - without showing you them, too. The computer screen is such a hostile medium, for me at least, that I feel that without the personalising photos to prove to you that I am a human being who lives in the world, I can't connect the same way. Maybe this is just me - I have trouble reading off of a screen without breaks for my eyes - but who am I writing this blog for? Mostly me.

That was more eloquent than I thought I'd be. I think.

Anyway, mostly I wanted to tell you two things.

1) About my knitting:

My jumper is finished. (I almost said 'sweater'. Repeat after me: jum-pah. jum-pah. otherwise the joke makes no sense!) The button band is curly, but everyone I've asked about it thought it's supposed to be like that. It looks kind of shell/wave-like. So I'm going to leave it for a while and see if I hate it. Also, it is nowhere near shaped enough, and the armholes are weird - I don't know what shape Jo Sharp thinks people with 110cm busts are, but although I go a long way out, I go a long way in, too.

I bought Big Girl Knits from Amazon (it's not out here) and while there are one or two patterns I want to knit, it was worth the > $40 just for the introduction. Despite being encouraging (You're fat. Don't like that word? OK, you are not skinny. Get over it, move on, do not under any circumstances dress like you are a fatty bumbah. Fat is fine. It's great. It's beautiful - sometimes) there is a great part about shaping, with places to plug your measurements in and equations written out for you. I am not the best at maths, but I am encouraged. I almost want to knit the jumper again to get it right - although I'm not sure how to go about fixing the armholes. I almost need to knit a size or two smaller and the put in extra shaping. Hmmm...

Also, My cardigan for Arwen is on the go. I knitted the whole back before realising that in doing the switcheroo with the needles to get gauge, I'd neglected to switch needles when I needed to. So I was knitting WAY too tight. So, frogged that, started on the front. It's pretty cool. I'm knitting it sans-cables and attatching them later, because my wool is too chunky for the cables. I'm halfway through the second sleeve and I think I might have mixed up the short-row shaping. I haven't checked - it's been on hiatus because....

2) I'm moving out! Finally! I've been living with my parents this last year while I was studying again and it's been... well, let's just say it's been far from ideal. But next weekend I will be moving in with my cousins. I guess I might talk about living arrangements later. But anyway, it's entirely satisfactory except for the fact that I only have a cleaning job which is here. So until I get another job (a better one, please the gods) I will be doing a ridiculous hour commute to the hills. Nevermind, I have an interview on Tuesday. (YAAAAYYY!!!)

Anyway, people of the blogosphere, I really do have things I wish to put out into the ether, but I want to do them properly, with punctuation. So, until next time:

Photo brought to you by You Knit What??

A New Year is born...

2007-01-04T08:02:00.000+10:30

Happy New Year, all.

It seems so insignificant, somehow. As telfair has said, it really is a second tier holiday, for me at least. I think it's important to have an occasion for reflection on the old year and the new, etc, but I guess i do that at christmas. Particularly this year. Last year's christmas will be stuck in my mind forever as being shit. I was in China, I had to work, it was cold. It was shit. And the perky TA's kept asking me 'are you happy?' It was all I could do not to swear at them. They were just being nice, how were they supposed to know I was anything but.

Then I got my calls from home, most meorably from the family gathering at my grandma's, where I had to have the same conversation with everyone I spoke to. You know how it is. Anyway, this christmas I was there in person. It wasn't a bad christmas, but it didn't seem very meaningful, somehow. I don't know. Maybe I'm still recovering from the China experience. In a lot of ways it taught me to distance my emotions, bury them a little. If you're being yelled at in the street becuase you're a round-eye, or you just got ripped off big time by someone you thought was being nice to you, or your bosses are screwing you around because they can and you're helpless to do anything about it, you learn to just push whatever to the side at least a bit, so that even if you're angry, you don't have to be as angry. Which can be a good thing, I think the Western world could use some of that, I know I could. But certainly not in large doses, or if you don't know you're doing it. My dad's side of the family tends to be a bit like that anyway.

A family of Asians recently moved into the town I'm living in, that I grew up in. I won't say what town it is, but it's an old (for Australia), German settled town in the Adeliade Hills. Most of the people who live here were born here, some of them have hardly ever been into the city, which is just incomprehensible to me. Anyway, these Asian men moved in, they were working at the abbatoir. Their families have just joined them. They don't have much English, but they're very nice. The kids have hung around the school I clean after hours, just sitting around in a group. I said to someone recently that they are in all probability acutely aware of everyone's attention every time they go out in public. Even if no one's looking, everyone is, if you know what I mean. That kind of thing can be wearying. That kind of thing is why the grwoing population of African's in Adelaide won't meet your eye casually in the street. If you think you won't like what you'll see there, you learn to go around in a bubble. Several times when I was in China I almost missed a friend in the street because I was inside my protective box.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not whingeing about my treatment in China. It was emotionally quite hard to live there, although it would probably be easier in a less backwards province (when I went on holiday to a bigger city the relief was indescripable) But there were many many privelages that I got for putting up with it. It was just part of the package, and most of the time people weren't looking at you because they hated you, just because you were different and interesting, and maybe they'd never seen a Westerner before. It was still hard if you were having a bad day. I can't imaginge what it must be like to have that kind of attention with added fear and hate, and quite frankly I don't want to. I don't want to put myself in the shoes of the group of African men that moved here at about the same time as the Asian men. One of the deli's here refused to loan them videos. I don't know, I guess they think that they'll never see them again, or something retarded like that (apologies to retarded people. This PC thing is hard) I don't want to think about how that would feel because it wouldn't feel good. Because I'd like to think that the people I grew up beside in this tiny town are friendly and nice and welcoming, and I just can't believe that in this century, in this country, that something like that is socially acceptable. The bastards.

I didn't mean for this to be about rascism, xenophobia, fear, hatred, difference. I was going to talk about body image and fatness and that (also something which I don't think has recovered from the China experience) but I guess I've been thinking about this even though I didn't realise. I just wish people would put a little thought in. I myself make and effort, after China, to have a smile for everyone, especially our new neighbours. I don't know if it makes a difference for them, but it makes a difference for me, knowing that I've been accepting and welcoming in even a tiny way. I hope they know that I sympathise. But you know, while I wish mightily that it wasn't so hard for them, I'm glad they're here. It does people good to have some change every decade or so, don't you think?

2006-12-27T20:42:00.001+10:30

My Fortune Cookie told me:
Better start drinking now.
Get a cookie from Miss Fortune

Meme time!

2006-12-27T19:02:00.000+10:30

Ok, so I've seen this meme around and unlike many of them I have always enjoyed reading this one. It is what every meme should be - informative, containing room for creativity and personal quirks and, most of all, short.

So here's my version

4 jobs I've had
1. Cleaner
2. Teaching English as a Foreign Language
3. Nightfiller in a supermarket
4. Kitchen Hand

4 movies I could watch over and over
1. Calamity jane
2. Toy Story (1 and 2)
3. The First Wives Club
4. Serenity

4 places I have lived (apart from where I am now)
1. Guiyang, China
2. Sichuan, china
3. Adelaide
4. Nope, that's it

4 TV shows I love
1. Firefly
2. The West Wing
3. Kath & Kim (although i often have to walk away from the TV)
4. Spicks and Specks

4 places I have been for a vacation
1. The Glenelg River
2. The Murray River
3. Falls Creek
4. Yunan

4 websites I visit daily - sorry nothing very exciting.
1. Bloglines
2. Google
3. Gmail
4. Podcast Alley (not really, but I've run out)

4 favourite foods
1. Chocolate - can you say predictable? Well, i love it.
2. YuXiangRouSi. this was my favourite dish in China and I miss it so much I've been known to have dreams about it.
3. Mangoes and peaches
4. Pasta

4 places I would rather be
1. In bed
2. Visiting my Best Friend in China - but only temporarily.
3. In my own (imaginary) house. Someday - someday soon, here's hoping
4. Somewhere quiet. Preferably an exotic beach or something, but I'd settle for a quiet parking lot at this particular moment.

4 people I am tagging

No one. If you like it, do as I did and just rip it off without being tagged. I am such a blogging rebel!

A very merry un-birthday...

2006-12-22T10:45:00.000+10:30

Well, that's over for another year, anyway.

I had a bunch to say, mostly about how it's raining (we had a thunderstorm last night. Very unseasonable) and some meta-thoughts about blogging and podcasts, but I'm feeling a bit blah. So, in honour of jac having visited my blog and to cheer myself up in the traditional Aussie way, I will commence, instead, to tell a joke about New Zealand. Don't worry, there are no sheep involved.

Q: What's a Hindu?

A: It Lays Eggs

Mwahaaahaaahaahaa!!!!

Picture from http://www.kcc.org.nz/birds/kiwi.asp

2006-12-21T13:54:00.000+10:30

Happy Birthday to meeeee....

Blah blah blah

2006-12-20T11:01:00.000+10:30

I am so crafty. But you knew that.

I wasn't going to give the cousins presents this year. I went a bit overboard last year when I was in China, since I needed an excuse to buy all kinds of crap, and besides, when was I going to be there again? Maybe never. But my sister went ahead and bought them stuff - at least, the cousins on my Dad's side, who we will be seeing on the actual day. And then I think she freaked cos she had no money, so I agreed to go halves with her. Which means effectively that i just bought my own present from her. Which is fine by me. But then, the crafting bug struck. I'd seen the pattern on Little birds handmade, and then there's the Flickr group with all the adorable variations. So when it turned out that I'd been sucked into the present vortex, I knew I had to make some.

I scanned some for you since I still have no camera (argh)

This was my first effort ^

You can't see it, but there's metallic embroidery on this one,> in swirls and stuff

Aren't they bootiful? The one up the top under my sister's tree sign is possibly my favourite. Although that fabric looks like hell, scanning was not the best way to show you, but it was, I am afraid, the only way. The fabric for both I found in an op shop. I got that and a whole bunch of other stuff including a plaid skirt for $10. I love that place. I plan on fixing up my plaid skirt and making a petticoat for it, blatantly ripping off Inside a Black Apple, because I love that look. I already have pirate boots - sort of.

So, this is the vogue photo scanned for
Inside a Black Apple and stolen by me.
I credited, so it's not really stealing, right?
Right?

I was saying to my cousin yesterday that since I started reading blogs obsessively I have started to develop a better sense of my own style. I mean, I always knew what I liked, but when it came to having a cohesive view of how I wanted to look/decorate, I was lacking. Now, having spent hours online admiring other people's concoctions, I am much more able to - for example - find things I like in op shops. Also, I feel more confident about doing things like wearing a plaid skirt with a petticoat, or a knitted alpaca skirt (two comments of encouragement, did you see? Now I have to do it!) Part of it is being able to see how I could alter things. If you just look at a magazine you think "well, that's nice, but it's not me." If you see it online you can think "oooh, I like that. But not in that colour. Or maybe a bit shorter. Perhaps I could add a pocket? And then I wouldn't wear it with a top like that..."

I love it. It makes me feel so smart :P

The christmas tree has been up for a while. First time it went up we decorated it, put the pressies under... and then it fell over. Since it is a real tree (no shampoo for my wig. Only real poo. Anyone else remember that?) there was water everywhere and presents needed re-wrapping. Now they are beautiful, and multiplying. There is quite a significant pile there, and oh, how I wish you could see it! They make me happy just looking at the pretty packages. I only started to get excited about opening them yesterday. Not for me, I pretty much know what I'm getting from my parents, although my sister will prolly have got me some interesting small things. But I love watching people open the things I've got them, and seeing what other people got them, too. I love that surprise even better than getting something for me, almost.

My cardigan is coming along. I have the back, and one and a half sleeves. I want it to be done so I can start the cardigan for Arwen.

Since I got some comments, I wanted to let you know that they were from Jac from Six impossible things, which I love and is funny (totally read her 100 things profile bit) and from Julie from Fricknits, which is beautiful. It's one of those little corners of the internet that is somehow peacful and nice to visit. I love bloglines, but it is not the same, somehow. Plus, her photos are always wonderful, and make reading nice. It's always just the right ratio of words:photos. Her current photo-essay is great. I wanted to say this because I've taken my links down, since they were in no way representative of the blogs I read. In a month or so I might put it back up again, because I love some of these blogs and I love clicking the links in them and finding my way around the internet. For some reason I'm much more likely to enjoy a blog if I've found it through a wierd path of links than if I've actually searched for it. I think it's that community thing people keep going on about. :)

Anyway, that's enough rambling form me, I'll let you know when my trees are sewn up, although i am in mourning for the possibility of photographing them...

BTW, did I mention it was my dad's 50th on Monday? Happy birthday! And it's my 23rd on thursday. Oh, the joys of having your birthday 4 days before christmas!

Hello. This is your subconscious speaking. We have encountered some turbulence...

2006-12-08T10:32:00.000+10:30

OK, so I know dreaming about things we do during the day is not unusual. I used to play Halo in my sleep, during that phase where so much of my social life revolved around the Xbox. (oh, yes. I almost miss it) So when I planned a cardigan in my sleep I wasn't too worried. I wasn't worried when I knit a sock as part of another dream. When I actually dream-knit a sock - the whole sock, every stitch - I became a little worried. Little did I know, that was nothing. Last night I dreamed I was reading my blogs on bloglines. But every time I got back to my feeds, there's be one or two new knitting ones, and boing boing had ten more. I couldn't keep up! It was like those dreams where you run and run and never get anywhere. Oh, my aching head.

Sometimes I wonder about my subconscious. Then I decide I don't want to know.

Re last post, I just listened to Episode 30 of Cast-on. I swear I only just did. This 'nothing new under the sun' thing gets a little wearying.

In other news, it's an extreme fire danger day today. Yay, summer has begun. My mother has us all freaking out as usual. And she wonders why I was an anxious child. Driving home from the city while your mother worries that your house might just not be there when you get home will do that to you. Ruined the suspense genre for me forever, that did.

I walked to work the other day, up the back of our property. I hadn't given a thought to snakes until, halfway up the firebreak, a brown snake that had obviously been sunning itself slithered away in front of me. Oh. My. God. I am no longer walking that way to work. Possibly never again. Possibly I will never even walk again, or set foot outside.

My father was digging a couple of years ago, and when he brought the shovel of dirt up, there was a brown snake's head sitting neatly on it. He'd dug into the burrow on sliced it's head neatly off, thank GOD, or it would have been mad and it might have been his head.

Snakes scare me. Not all snakesa. But anyone who isn't afraid of a brown snake is either stupid, suicidal or dead.

And since this is a knitting blog, I should mention that my test ball of wool for the Arwen cardigan came along in the mail - finally. So now I can swatch away. Hoorah.

Conversation with my sister last night:
Me: Do you like this colour?
Her: It's all right.
Me: It's for the 'Cardigan for Arwen'
Her: Who's Arwen?
Me: ....?

2006-12-06T19:23:00.000+10:30

It's twilight. My favourite time of day. It's early summer. My favourite time of year. The sun is just dipping over the hill, so that all the gum trees are lit up golden, and the light's all soft. The kangaroos are munching on the grass up the hill. I'm watching a blackbird sneak around the garden like he's James Bond, and the magpies have started to congregate on the strip on concrete between the house and the bush, as they like to do around a full moon. It's beautiful. I wish you could see it.

I'm feeling contemplative. Since I can't post pictures, I've been trying to write a post about something other than knitting. Also, the blogs I like best are the ones that have a nice ratio of FO's and begun projects, pictures of same, and real stories. There's stories of childbirth, miscarriage, and breastfeeding, of loss and of new life, of marriage, divorce, sickness and growth, and all the small triumphs and hardships that make up everyday life. They're why I like the internet, because real people with real stories are more interesting to me any day than some dumb celebrity with more money than they know what to do with. What's that? Brittney dumped KFed by sms? Who cares. (I only know this because Leo Laporte seems fascinated with it. These days, if it hasn't got some sort of rss feed, I don't know about it.)

Well, I couldn't write one. There's nothing really exciting happening in my life right now. Nothing I thought was blogworthy, anyhow. Sure, I've just finished a year of study, which was hard, and now I'm moving into the painful process of finding a job and a proper place to live, and starting a new phase of life. But the problem with that is that it's a period of change, and there's nothing to write about until the change has happened. But right now, I just wanted to share my mood, to let the world know that right now, right here, it's beautiful, and that I've noticed.

As an aside, I keep hearing that knitting is 'not just for grannies' and that 'young, hip people knit, too'. This is undoubtedly true. However, I realised today that my grandmother has the best fashion sense out of anyone I know, and knits and sews much cooler things than I ever will. So maybe it's not just knitting's image we need to try to update. What's wrong with grannies, I ask you? Must all grannies sit in rocking chairs with blue hair and glasses and knit only bootied and crochet only squares? Why does everyone think of this when the word 'grandmother' is mentioned? Why do I? Neither of my grandmothers is anything like this, nor is any grandmother I know. Given the amazing age we live to and are active to today, grandmothers are often still those young people who knit hip things. So what gives, people?

Did I spoil my nice contemplative mood? Oh well.

I was going to do a meme, but I need to save some things since it doesn't look like I'll have any pics for you for a while. So, here's stuff I wish I could show you:

1)the sign my sister made saying 'insert tree here' as a very subtle hint. It has a christmas gtree shape cut out of red spotty paper, & it's very cute
2) the twilight
3)the kangaroos
4)My nautilus that I must finish soon so my sister can take it in before school is done
5)The op-shop jumper that I half-felted today (mucho exciting!)
6)Where to find James Kim

(pictures c/o google images)

More words, less pictures

2006-12-04T09:17:00.000+10:30

Just some miscellania. Sister got a rabbit. She has been begging for a rabbit for months now. We have always had rabbits. Our first we got when I was little. They were both albino, and I called them Bert and Ernie. As if to substantiate the rumours, Ernie started chasing Bert around the cage. So we went to get them desexed, and Ernie died under anesthesia. This lesson, I think, I have carried with me since ;-P Then we had the imaginatively named Blackie, who was with us for a while, keeping Bert company. When Bert died when I was in year 10, we were all very sad, and there was a rabbit lul. Then Sister got a grey long-haired bunny with gorgeous floppy ears and named it... wait for it... Flopsy. We are, like, so clever.

Well, this one is named Giacomo. After, apparently, Cassanova. I would like to explain this by stating the the whole household has a crush on David Tennant (known to all Harry Potter fans as Barty Crouch JR.), and my sister and I stayed up late one night watching the BBC mini-series of Cassanova. It was very good, and a little trippy.

This rabbit is small. It is black. The underside of its paws are white, it has a white blaze on its forehead, and it has an itty bitty white nose. It's j'adorable. And it's sitting huddled in the corner of its hutch FREAKING OUT. Okay, so rabbits aren't known for their bravery. But this poor thing just looks like it doesn't know what to do. Very sad. I'm sure it'll settle down soon to its base level of terror and it'll be fine.

In other news, I have to decide today what to do with the two jumpers I got from the op shop. I'm thinking I might thrift the yarn from one, and felt the other. Mymother thinks I should wear it, but the thing has shoulder pads, it's so eighties. I actually love the colours, they're very muppets, but I don't know if I could wear them. I'm thinking a bag, maybe. Am I brave enough to make a felted bag from a jumper? Maybe.

Also, have been put on a guilt trip by this. Some of those kids remind me so much of my students last year in China. And here I am, sitting on my bum, whingeing. Bah.

Speaking of whinging, how hard is it to tell you in the help section how to put a button on your blog? I guess it's so simple that everybody already knows... except me... (can you hear the violins?)

This and that.

2006-12-03T19:09:00.000+10:30

So, I have been incredibly productive, knitting-wise. this may be because I have officially finished my honours year, and now I find myself at a bit of a loss. I got a 2a, if you're wondering, which is the third best. Not too bad, but not great, either, considering one of my friends got a first class. Then again, she had the year from hell, and just about killed herself with the stress, whereas I sort of floated through, in retrospect. Which means both that I got the score I deserved, for the amount of work I was willing to put in, and I am also happy with my result. Now that I've gotten over my jealousy and my might-have-beens. Frankly, I just wasn't prepared to put in the amount of extra work it would have taken. I should be, I know. It goes against the Protestant work ethic to admit that. But since I'm a lapsed-catholic/agnostic, I think that fits right in, don't you?

Anyway, the point is, I have some fantastic things to show you, but my sister has broken her camera (how inconsiderate!) so until she gets it fixed or I break down and buy myself one (but that would mean I couldn't afford more yarn!) I'll have to be content to show you what I did before she broke it.

I got excited by the discovery of fabric stash from goodness knows when, and whipped these up. I can sew sqaures, people! Are you proud of me? The idea was to cover the shelves in my wadrobe-thingy which store rarely used stuff. Because I'm living with my parents this year, and am back in my old, dark, TINY room (my sister's is huge. Don't get me started) there is a serious lack of storage space. Which is a problem I am well used to, being a pack-rat by nature. I have ribbon that I'm planning to make into proper... what would the word be? I'm planning on hemming the ribbon and sewing on snap-studs, for easy access. I was considering some embroidery, but I like them simple, especially since uncluttered space is at a premium in my life, even if it is vertical.

Along the same vein of reducing visual clutter:

I used more fabric-stash (it's got parrots on) to make a bag. I made it around a canvas green-bag. The idea occured to me a while back, since I am definately a novice-knitter. It was fun to make, but it's really too floppy, and the pockets are poorly placed. I might consider using it as a real bag, since I often use a green bag when lugging books etc around. They're a handy size. But it was not what my knitting needed, so I managed to find about 5 unused bags from my bag collection (you can never have too much wool or too many bags) which are now storing individual projects.

In leiu of photos, I'll just tell you what's on my needles:

1) Jo Sharpe cardigan: back cast off today. Front to commence as soon as I can work up the steam.
2) scarf for sister: almost finished the next installment. Now only one more strip, then blocking and finishing (oy)
3) A nautiloid as a chrissie present for an old science teacher (I am such a nerd. But she was my fave teacher, and my mother now works at my old school, and apparently the year 12s this year were less than grateful. Also, I've been dying to knit one. Gee, this was a long parenthesis) Almost done, only the tentacles left to knit.
4)Fingerless gloves: no more progress (boring)
5)Tool-case from Creative Knitting with fair-isle rose: finished, only blocking and finishing left. First attempt at fair-isle a little tight, but who's counting?
6)Cardigan for Arwen: eagerly awaiting yarn in the mail.

There. How productive am I? (That's a rhetorical question. The answer would be: very) Also fixated on the beret from Interweave Knits. My sister wanted me to knit one for her. I said, buy the yarn and I'll knit it. She discovered how much yarn costs and suffered a severe change of mind. Besides, after I've finished this blasted scarf and those gloves, I have decided I will no longer knit for her. She doesn't appreciate it. So there *crosses arms* So, if I have enough tweedy yarn left over when I finish this dratted scarf, which I think I will have, I'll be making a cream-coloured one for myself. I've discovered that knitting for oneself is lovely.

In other knitting news, I read a great kids book the other day. (I clean a primary school. I snoop in the library. So sue me) It was called Emily and the Dragon, and it was about Emily, who loved to dance, her pet chicken Egg and her noxious brother Jock who tells her at the start that "girls are feeble. They can't fight Dragons. Everybody knows that." To which Emily gamely replies "I don't know that." and sets off to find a dragon to fight.

Instead, she makes friends with a witch, a knight and the dragon who doesn't want to fight, she'd rather dance (everybody knows that dragons don't dance - I don't know) The reason it's knitting news is because the knight doesn't want to fight: he'd rather knit (but everybody knows knights don't knit.) Thankfully, Emily doesn't know that, and she teaches him, and there's some nice little educational graphics for any reader who'd like to join the knight. I thought it was charming, and the knight's droopy mustache reminded me of that Dick King Smith book - what was it?
I don't remember, but it was about a dubiously talented knight with a clever (talking) horse, and who is aided in the rescue of a princess by a horrible witch, who turns out to be both quite nice and the princess. I'm sure it was DKS. Anyway, I'll find out. It was a good book. Nice antidote to fairy-tale stupidness.

Well, i think that's enough rambling for now. I'm off to try to figure out how to put a button on my sidebar, and mayb e even update my links, which are woefully behind my voracious bookmarks. I'm addicted, people. Addicted...

Pictures! At last! And haven't I been busy...

2006-11-23T11:40:00.000+10:30

You can tell I'm putting off an essay, can't you?

My socks *singing*
I love them, I love them, I need more!
(damn my thirsty soul)

The Jo Sharp cotton bag.

It's supposed to have a wash-cloth and hand towel to match, but I was reluctant to spend all at once (ha ha), so they might come later. I think this would make a nice present-set, especially if you bought some matching soap-holders, etc. A little pricey, but.

This is the Jo Sharp cardi that I started. I am making good progress, no? Not that it's much more exciting than knitting a cushion right now, but the end product is much more worth it. Can you see the shiny-ness?

Yum. I love this wool. I love Bendigo Woolen Mills! Am planning another wool-haul, some for chrissie stuff (I know, I'm a trifle tardy) but mostly for my Arwen knit along. Very exciting. Anyway, to break up the monotony of cardigan-ness, I've been working on My sister's scarf - Voila!

And whenever the incessent un-tangling gets too much for me, I switch back to the cardi. Actually, the scarf is going quite well, I rolled it up and pinned it, because the length was tangling with the threads dangling from my needles. So now progress is much faster. It's not almost finished, but it is almost almost finished. And i also remembered I had those fingerless gloves for her, too. Christmas, here I come!

A new project

2006-11-22T11:34:00.000+10:30

OK, so le sister has apparently hidden her camera... how inconsiderate!

However, I was looking at some of the 'knit alongs', and I found this one, ArwenAlong, for the 'cardigan for Arwen' from the latest Interwieve Knits. I do not yet have said magazine, but just you wait until I get paid! I've wanted... neede to do this since I saw it on the Knitnbitch blog.

The problem is the wool. It needs about 17 50g balls. The wool called for in the pattern is more than $10 a ball. I simply can't afford that much for this, especially considering all the toher purchases I've made lately, mostly of wool...

So, back to the Bendigo Woolen Mills swatch card. I can't decide. It's either one of these:

Or one of these:
Technically it's supposed to be aran weight, but with a bit of swatching and adjustment I could probably get away with a DK - it's in the list of suggested yarn substituates at the Yahoo group.

The red tweed in the top pic is what I'm currently doing my cardigan in. Here is a look at the swatch - I can't take pics but I can scan!

You can't see the thing I love best about it - that is, the way it glints in the light. In fact, it looks kinda boring, doesn't it? Oh well. I'll photograph my WIP of it when I can, and maybe you'll be able to tell then?

So, back to the yarn choosing. I don't know if you can really see them. I'm thinking maybe one of the blues or greens. I hesitate to choose them because, well, the picture is blue, and I hate choosing the same colour as the picture. But I seem to be doing it a lot. My socks are not the same colour as the pic (the pic is 'Paris' and my socks are 'Orchid'... or was it 'Orchard'?) but they're both green. My cardi, even though not planned, is also red, as in the pic. However, I like blues and greens, and they also seem appropriate. I like the idea of 'green opal' or maybe 'mariner' from the 'Rustic' selection (first pic) I have the choice of 8 or twelve ply for those (that is, DK weight or bulky weight)

Well, I have plenty of time to choose. I can't get the magazine until at least Monday. But I'd like to order the wool, so's I can have it soon after I get the pattern. As soon as I joined the KAL I got the horrible sinking feeling - this little voice in my head, squeaking 'you're falling behind! you're falling behind!' Damn my competative streak!