The correct question is, "How much money will knitters give to Doctors Without Borders/Medicines Sans Frontiers when challenged to give $250,000?" For those who may not know the history, Stephanie Pearl- McPhee issued this challenge on her Yarnharlot blog a while back. It began innocently enough when she simply asked folks to give whatever amount they could spare, the price of a skein of yarn or so. In true knitterly fashion, the community went well above and beyond what was requested. To the tune of the aforementioned $434 439.41!!! All I can say is "Knitters Rock!" When asked what the new goal chould be, an overwhelming number of commentors replied, "A million dollars, of course."
I'm now trying to figure out what my next step should be. I really want to open a local yarn shop. I love where I live. It's a fairly small town, but it's growing. The local leaders are trying to revitalize the area and are currently encouraging craft based businesses (think pottery and quilting shops and the like.) Right now, there are no yarn shops in the area. The closest ones are nearly an hour away and while they are quite nice to visit, with gas prices being what they are and with no public transportation between here and there, it's a bit challenging to frequent them. My husband and I have discussed it, looked at it, talked it over, thought about it and darn near analysed it to death with the end result being that I believe it could really work. Now I just have to decide if the timing is right to go for it. What I would really like is to have the shop up and running and be able to donate some Karmic Balancing Prizes (KBP) for Knitters Without Borders. Any thoughts?
While I ponder the best course of action, I'm spending most of my free time working on my grandmother's Christmas gift, a pair of stripey socks knit from Wendy's Toe-up Sock pattern. I'm using Regia sock yarn in a kind of jewel tone colorway (Sorry I don't have pictures at the moment, but the camera got left in the car and it's freezing out there.) I still have one and a half socks to go. (I'm almost ready to turn the heel and then move up the leg.) I don't have Grandmother's measurements, but I inherited my lower limbs from her. Her feet and legs are not only the same size but the same shape as mine, so I get to try them on as I go. Of course the guy who runs the garage raised an eyebrow when I stripped my foot bare to try on the sock for a fitting, but I had just given a glowing recommendation to a potential new customer, so he just smiled. Trust me, a woman peeling off shoes and socks to try on a half a sock with needles poking out of it is not even close to being the oddest thing you'll see around here. I love our little town!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Inspiration
What fun. I knew I was going to enjoy seeing the Yarn Harlot the moment I found out she was visiting the area. I started knitting (re-started actually) a couple years ago. A knitter I randomly encountered recommended Stephanie's books and blog to me, so I checked them out. I had such a blast, I began looking out for Stephanie's signing events. Thursday's was the first one I was able to attend.
I knew from reading her blog that there would be a good turnout. When I called Border's to find out the details, the fellow who answered the phone was unsure of the date and time. I waited while he verified the information and then I asked him if I needed to reserve a seat or anything. He assured me that it wasn't necessary as they always had plenty of room for these things and there would be an abundance of seating; the line for signing tickets however would begin at 6:30, an hour before she would start speaking. I decided to play it safe and get there no later than 5:00. As it turned out we got there about 4:30. The parking lot was busy, but not jammed and they were preparing the cafe area for us. I turned the corner and found a line of knitters sitting on the floor working on shawls, socks and whatever else they had with them.
As I spoke with folks in line, I discovered that the 6:30 ticket time had been bumped up to 5:30 and as the line grew (I was number 38) they announced they would be opening the table just as soon as they could get some help. All in all they handled the crowd fairly well. I think there may have been some slight lightheadedness and shortness of breath when the crowd really started getting there, but they rounded up some more chairs.
I'm not sure how many hats we collected, but it was fun seeing the different ones as we passed them down the aisles to the hat table. You can't really tell from the pictures, but there were some really cool hats. The lady in the pink sweater was the cross-aisle liason who ferried the hats across to the table.
Soon enough Stephanie showed up and cameras began flashing. In my defense, I am trying to get used to my new camera. At this point I had owned it barely 24 hours. I can usually get along fairly well with technology, but with digital cameras, my learning curve is a bit steeper. I don't know how I did it, but somehow I must have turned off the stabilizer or turned on the digital zoom or angered the tech gods, I don't know, but the one clear shot I had, didn't come out clear at all.
I have never had a camera with double vision before. I'm blaming the yarn fumes. I know they were getting to me and I was actively resisting. There were beautiful hats, delicate shawls and wraps, socks in every color of the rainbow (sometimes all in one sock), and at least one afghan made of leftover sock yarn in all blues and greens (absolutely gorgeous.)
There were people knitting, crocheting, spinning and just talking. The neatest thing was that all though there were groups of people who had travelled together, there were many more who just happened to meet while waiting around. And all of them were absolutely lovely.
There was even one who took this picture of me and the kids while we were sitting in line. 
My son was so proud of his "knitting ball and very own needles". Perhaps one day he'll create something like this...
She did this entire piece, start to finish in 16 days. You can't really tell from this picture, but take my word for it, there was beautiful cabling and detail all down the front and in the center of the back. Talk about being gobsmacked! There were so many lovely pieces of handiwork there, that I have decided to overcome my fear of large knitted items. I'm going to commit to making a sweater. Thursday night was fun, it was energetic, it was relaxing, it was an inspiration!
My son was so proud of his "knitting ball and very own needles". Perhaps one day he'll create something like this...She did this entire piece, start to finish in 16 days. You can't really tell from this picture, but take my word for it, there was beautiful cabling and detail all down the front and in the center of the back. Talk about being gobsmacked! There were so many lovely pieces of handiwork there, that I have decided to overcome my fear of large knitted items. I'm going to commit to making a sweater. Thursday night was fun, it was energetic, it was relaxing, it was an inspiration!
Holy Smokes
Wow! What a crazy summer it's been. We packed in a trip back home, a week at Cub Scout camp, a week in Pennsylvania and another trip back home all between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Sprinkled in there were three cases of strep (none of which belonged to the kids),a couple sets of out-of-town guests, a record-breaking heat wave and a blown transformer on the air conditioner. Now that we are in the end of summer, the AC has been fixed... yesterday. Part of the joy of owning a hundred-year-old house is the daily guessing game, "What's Going to Happen Next?"
Our first contestant was the home inspector. He got to play a rousing game of "Did Someone Just Flush the Toilet?" along with "How Fast Can I Evacuate This Crawlspace." Apparently after the addition was completed, the toilet did not get properly connected to the sewer. I thought that would have been a pretty essential job to do and that it would have been painfully obvious if it weren't done correctly. I also would have thought that someone would have noticed the accumulation of... umm... personal waste products in the crawlspace, especially considering the toilet was installed approximately 25 years ago, but I was very wrong. A couple thousand dollars and a removal team later, the plumber (not the original one) was able to get under the house and fix the pipe and we were all able to breathe a bit better.
Once we got moved in, we earned the opportunity to play "What the Hell is Bubbling Up in the Bathroom We Just Fixed?" While it does get the heart pumping, this is not a game I would recommend for families with young, inquisitive children. Another call to the plumber while en route to the store to procure a cheap mop and bucket, a gallon of disinfectant and an economy-size package of rubber gloves. Sure I keep most of those supplies on hand, but if you think that mop and bucket was going anywhere but to the curb, you are horribly mistaken. I know the disinfectant did its job, but the mop still gave me the creeps. Turns out the next pipe down the line had worked loose and created a backup.
Our next exciting installment was "How Many Fans Does It Take to Make the House Bearable?" This game began at the beginning of the aforementioned record-breaking heat wave. Fortunately we have two large trees which shade nearly half the house. Unfortunately, despite borrowing some extra fans from friends whose AC was still functioning, we were unable to determine the final answer. All we know is that it is a number greater than ten.
The most recent episode I lovingly refer to as "How Many Tries Does It Take to Repair the Front Door?" I long ago decided that the house had apersonality of its own. That's a large part of the reason I fell in love with it in the first place. But like many other relationships, once the gloss and shine of new love wears off, you're left with the gritty, less than ideal reality. In this case it was the front door. Recently it had become difficult to close. Not in an obvious way. Not in a "you pull the door and it stops before it should" kind of way. No, this was much more subtle. We would leave and pull the door closed behind us... or so we thought. All too often I would remember some forgotten item and head back up the steps, keys in hand only to discover the door was open about half an inch. I'm sure it was closed, it felt like it closed, I even scraped my knuckles on the door jamb for Pete's sake! One afternoon, on my way to run a quick errand before my son's soccer game, the door began playing its little tricks. I understand it was just crying out for attention, but in my frustration and hurry I closed it a bit more firmly than intended. It was one of those time-stopping moments. I knew as it closed that the slightly wavy glass was history. Sure enough, it shattered. We were able to buy a new piece of glass at the local hardware store, but had to wait a couple days to install it. As we were trimming the glass (I was not responsible for the measurements on this one. That job I left for my husband) we encountered a weak spot and nailed the plywood back up until we could get a new pane cut again. I have a new window again and the kids have a vivid lesson in why we don't slam the doors, so I guess it worked out O.K.
On the plus side, we had a lot of fun this summer, we sold our old house in record time and I was finally able to purchase a new digital camera. (My old one bit the dust several months ago.) I now have a Canon Power Shot that I think I really like. Aside from the fact that I have set an option and can't seem to straighten it out, I'm pretty pleased with my purchase. Of course the camera I was using (on my phone) looked like it was on a three day bender if the picture quality is any judge, so whatever I bought would have to be an improvement. I got it just in time to see the Yarn Harlot as she visited Virginia. More tomorrow... with actual knitting and pictures...
Our first contestant was the home inspector. He got to play a rousing game of "Did Someone Just Flush the Toilet?" along with "How Fast Can I Evacuate This Crawlspace." Apparently after the addition was completed, the toilet did not get properly connected to the sewer. I thought that would have been a pretty essential job to do and that it would have been painfully obvious if it weren't done correctly. I also would have thought that someone would have noticed the accumulation of... umm... personal waste products in the crawlspace, especially considering the toilet was installed approximately 25 years ago, but I was very wrong. A couple thousand dollars and a removal team later, the plumber (not the original one) was able to get under the house and fix the pipe and we were all able to breathe a bit better.
Once we got moved in, we earned the opportunity to play "What the Hell is Bubbling Up in the Bathroom We Just Fixed?" While it does get the heart pumping, this is not a game I would recommend for families with young, inquisitive children. Another call to the plumber while en route to the store to procure a cheap mop and bucket, a gallon of disinfectant and an economy-size package of rubber gloves. Sure I keep most of those supplies on hand, but if you think that mop and bucket was going anywhere but to the curb, you are horribly mistaken. I know the disinfectant did its job, but the mop still gave me the creeps. Turns out the next pipe down the line had worked loose and created a backup.
Our next exciting installment was "How Many Fans Does It Take to Make the House Bearable?" This game began at the beginning of the aforementioned record-breaking heat wave. Fortunately we have two large trees which shade nearly half the house. Unfortunately, despite borrowing some extra fans from friends whose AC was still functioning, we were unable to determine the final answer. All we know is that it is a number greater than ten.
The most recent episode I lovingly refer to as "How Many Tries Does It Take to Repair the Front Door?" I long ago decided that the house had apersonality of its own. That's a large part of the reason I fell in love with it in the first place. But like many other relationships, once the gloss and shine of new love wears off, you're left with the gritty, less than ideal reality. In this case it was the front door. Recently it had become difficult to close. Not in an obvious way. Not in a "you pull the door and it stops before it should" kind of way. No, this was much more subtle. We would leave and pull the door closed behind us... or so we thought. All too often I would remember some forgotten item and head back up the steps, keys in hand only to discover the door was open about half an inch. I'm sure it was closed, it felt like it closed, I even scraped my knuckles on the door jamb for Pete's sake! One afternoon, on my way to run a quick errand before my son's soccer game, the door began playing its little tricks. I understand it was just crying out for attention, but in my frustration and hurry I closed it a bit more firmly than intended. It was one of those time-stopping moments. I knew as it closed that the slightly wavy glass was history. Sure enough, it shattered. We were able to buy a new piece of glass at the local hardware store, but had to wait a couple days to install it. As we were trimming the glass (I was not responsible for the measurements on this one. That job I left for my husband) we encountered a weak spot and nailed the plywood back up until we could get a new pane cut again. I have a new window again and the kids have a vivid lesson in why we don't slam the doors, so I guess it worked out O.K.
On the plus side, we had a lot of fun this summer, we sold our old house in record time and I was finally able to purchase a new digital camera. (My old one bit the dust several months ago.) I now have a Canon Power Shot that I think I really like. Aside from the fact that I have set an option and can't seem to straighten it out, I'm pretty pleased with my purchase. Of course the camera I was using (on my phone) looked like it was on a three day bender if the picture quality is any judge, so whatever I bought would have to be an improvement. I got it just in time to see the Yarn Harlot as she visited Virginia. More tomorrow... with actual knitting and pictures...
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
What's up, Doc?
Well, it looks like my plan to journal regularly fell apart. So what has happened since early March? My PTO obligations climbed the priority ladder as the Spring fundraiser reared it's ugly head loomed on the horizon. We were hoping to get enough money to finish paying for Field Day (a day for the students to recover from end-of-year testing and generally have a bit of fun) and maybe spruce-up one of our playgrounds. Apparently no new equipment has been purchased for our 4th and 5th graders' use in at least the last decade and much of what was there needed some serious repair. Our Spring fundraiser is always smaller than the Fall one, so we adjust our expectations accordingly. This year however, our families came through and we raised enough money that after all other expenses were taken out, there was enough left over to buy four new pieces of equipment... big pieces... to give most of the kids something cool to do during recess! Woo Hoo! Our parents and students rock!
After the fundraiser was over, we began the move into our new house! We packed many of our boxes before the movers arrived so we could save a little money, but we still had plenty for them to do. We didn't want to hog up all the fun. The packing team was great. They were friendly and efficient and they did a fantastic job. The movers came the next day and hauled approximately 8,754,902 boxes to the new house. My figures may be off a bit; I lost count while swimming in a sea of cardboard. Just as I was going under for the third time, my dear husband rescued me and declared we had to go out to eat. "Great idea, honey. Where do you want to go?" "Anywhere that's cardboard-free!" I knew I married him for a reason.
While preparing for the movers, it dawned on me that I had to make sure my son's soccer stuff didn't get boxed up. Turns out my hubby had originally scheduled the movers for Opening Day... Iain's first game of the season... my hubby's first game as Assistant Coach... the day before my other son's birthday. Oh well, we needed the extra week anyway. Soccer went well, but somehow I wound up being the team mom. I'm not sure what happened. I asked the coach if he needed any help, he said "I think we're OK. Could you just make sure the other parents get this paper...blah...blah...blah...(something else innocuous)...Oh yeah! We could use ...team mom... blah... blah. You will? Great! Thanks a ton!" The details are a bit foggy, but as it turned out, I had a great time.
While soccer was underway, it dawned on me that my cub scouts were running out of time to finish earning their awards. The parents are responsible for helping the boys with their projects and achievements, but it's probably a good idea for their Den Leader to keep an eye on their progress. (Hence the Leader part) The boys and their folks were great. They finshed what they needed to and the parents helped pull everything together. It was great!
That just left Cub Scout Crossover, Field Day and 5th Grade graduation on the agenda (on May 29, May 30 and June 7) I heard the crossover went really well. I heard the food was great. I heard the skits were hilarious. I heard the kids all got the correct awards. I heard the scenery was gorgeous. I heard the doctor say "Eeew! Um... let's swab your throat, but I'm going to go ahead start writing you a prescription while we wait for the results." (The same initial reaction her assistant had when taking a peek.) Yes, I came down with a lovely raging case of strep, which my hubby caught as well, but the kids were unscathed. Go figure.
Field Day was a roaring success. The kids played, the kids ate cotton candy, popcorn and snow cones, the kids went home tired and exhausted with smiles on their faces. That just left 5th Grade graduation. I'm not a big fan of multiple graduations (pre-school, kindergarten, fifthe grade, middle school, etc.) but that's a topic for a different day. Tha biggest problem I had with this particular ceremony was that I was expected to get up and say something. My husband will say that his concern was whether I would stop talking once I got started, but what does he know? He's only known me for how many years? Let's see... well never mind.
The principal pointed out that the teachers would have a printout for me and she even reminded me that I have taught most of these kids for the three years I have been subbing. The PTO Vice-President mentioned that I get up and speak at every PTO meeting, so public speaking is nothing new. All good points. all true, all very rational, all completely irrelevant when I'm looking at a sea of faces belonging to parents whose baby is walking across the elementary stage for the last time. Whether I am a big fan of this ceremony or not, many of these folks are. It's their child's moment to shine and the last thing they want is for some PTO Co-President to get up there and muck up the procedings. Sure, they don't mind if I crack a joke at the monthly meeting, They laugh quietly when I drop my agenda or get a little tongue-tied while figuring out how to re-word a motion. But those are insignificant meetings, not some ceremony that they actually used a precious, rare day off from work (or worse had to beg to be able to squeeze into their schedule) to attend along with friends, relatives, baby-sitters and everyone else who has known this child since they were in diapers.
I got my folder from the teachers. I got my awards and gifts to present the kids. I got my butterflies under control... sort of. I got my seat on the stage (as close to the exit as I could.) I got through the whole thing without flubbing up and sent a group of some of the best ten-year-olds I have had the pleasure of knowing, off on the exciting journey toward becoming even brighter young women and men.
Soccer, Scouts and PTO are pretty much done for a while, so I should be able to squeeze in a little time for posting. I just have to discipline myself. Something along the lines of "after you unpack a half-dozen boxes, you can have some playtime." I think I'll play "where did the craft boxes hide themselves?" What's that sound I hear? I believe it's the sound of cardboard calling my name...
After the fundraiser was over, we began the move into our new house! We packed many of our boxes before the movers arrived so we could save a little money, but we still had plenty for them to do. We didn't want to hog up all the fun. The packing team was great. They were friendly and efficient and they did a fantastic job. The movers came the next day and hauled approximately 8,754,902 boxes to the new house. My figures may be off a bit; I lost count while swimming in a sea of cardboard. Just as I was going under for the third time, my dear husband rescued me and declared we had to go out to eat. "Great idea, honey. Where do you want to go?" "Anywhere that's cardboard-free!" I knew I married him for a reason.
While preparing for the movers, it dawned on me that I had to make sure my son's soccer stuff didn't get boxed up. Turns out my hubby had originally scheduled the movers for Opening Day... Iain's first game of the season... my hubby's first game as Assistant Coach... the day before my other son's birthday. Oh well, we needed the extra week anyway. Soccer went well, but somehow I wound up being the team mom. I'm not sure what happened. I asked the coach if he needed any help, he said "I think we're OK. Could you just make sure the other parents get this paper...blah...blah...blah...(something else innocuous)...Oh yeah! We could use ...team mom... blah... blah. You will? Great! Thanks a ton!" The details are a bit foggy, but as it turned out, I had a great time.
While soccer was underway, it dawned on me that my cub scouts were running out of time to finish earning their awards. The parents are responsible for helping the boys with their projects and achievements, but it's probably a good idea for their Den Leader to keep an eye on their progress. (Hence the Leader part) The boys and their folks were great. They finshed what they needed to and the parents helped pull everything together. It was great!
That just left Cub Scout Crossover, Field Day and 5th Grade graduation on the agenda (on May 29, May 30 and June 7) I heard the crossover went really well. I heard the food was great. I heard the skits were hilarious. I heard the kids all got the correct awards. I heard the scenery was gorgeous. I heard the doctor say "Eeew! Um... let's swab your throat, but I'm going to go ahead start writing you a prescription while we wait for the results." (The same initial reaction her assistant had when taking a peek.) Yes, I came down with a lovely raging case of strep, which my hubby caught as well, but the kids were unscathed. Go figure.
Field Day was a roaring success. The kids played, the kids ate cotton candy, popcorn and snow cones, the kids went home tired and exhausted with smiles on their faces. That just left 5th Grade graduation. I'm not a big fan of multiple graduations (pre-school, kindergarten, fifthe grade, middle school, etc.) but that's a topic for a different day. Tha biggest problem I had with this particular ceremony was that I was expected to get up and say something. My husband will say that his concern was whether I would stop talking once I got started, but what does he know? He's only known me for how many years? Let's see... well never mind.
The principal pointed out that the teachers would have a printout for me and she even reminded me that I have taught most of these kids for the three years I have been subbing. The PTO Vice-President mentioned that I get up and speak at every PTO meeting, so public speaking is nothing new. All good points. all true, all very rational, all completely irrelevant when I'm looking at a sea of faces belonging to parents whose baby is walking across the elementary stage for the last time. Whether I am a big fan of this ceremony or not, many of these folks are. It's their child's moment to shine and the last thing they want is for some PTO Co-President to get up there and muck up the procedings. Sure, they don't mind if I crack a joke at the monthly meeting, They laugh quietly when I drop my agenda or get a little tongue-tied while figuring out how to re-word a motion. But those are insignificant meetings, not some ceremony that they actually used a precious, rare day off from work (or worse had to beg to be able to squeeze into their schedule) to attend along with friends, relatives, baby-sitters and everyone else who has known this child since they were in diapers.
I got my folder from the teachers. I got my awards and gifts to present the kids. I got my butterflies under control... sort of. I got my seat on the stage (as close to the exit as I could.) I got through the whole thing without flubbing up and sent a group of some of the best ten-year-olds I have had the pleasure of knowing, off on the exciting journey toward becoming even brighter young women and men.
Soccer, Scouts and PTO are pretty much done for a while, so I should be able to squeeze in a little time for posting. I just have to discipline myself. Something along the lines of "after you unpack a half-dozen boxes, you can have some playtime." I think I'll play "where did the craft boxes hide themselves?" What's that sound I hear? I believe it's the sound of cardboard calling my name...
Friday, March 9, 2007
Eureka!
I think I have discovered the secret to getting quick service at the tax office. My original plan was to take plenty of WIP's to work on while waiting and if all else failed, threaten to turn the kids loose at their tiredest, whiniest most impulsive stage. Apparently having projects to work on had the same effect as scheduling a doctor's apointment for a sick child. All problems suddenly clear up and the child becomes the picture of health... as you pull into the parking lot, leaving you to look like a paranoid parent.
Everything went really well this year. I was pleased to see a diferent set of women working in the office (much more confidence-inspiring than the last crew). There was no line, so as soon as they switched off we were able to get started. The woman doing our paperwork was fantastic. She knew about deductions and regulations I had never heard of and helped us tremendously. Not only did she help with the taxes, but she's a mom too and quickly whipped out clipboards complete with paper and pens and asked the boys to draw her some pictures. She came up with all the appropriate "oohs and ahhhs" and even gave them tape to post their artwork on the wall. Mega Kudos to her.
There were a couple sections that applied only to my husband, so I did have a chance to work on the dishcloth. It's a lace pattern that I've been wanting to try and I really do like it. Please don't be fooled by the language you may hear while I work on it. The pattern has an eight stitch repeat. That's all... eight little stitches. Why, that's not even a whole handful. I still have two fingers left over. I enjoy math, I like numerical puzzles, I have even been known to use algebra in real life. So perhaps someone can explain why I appear to be unable to count to eight. Eight is a nice number. It's about as round as you get (It's twice as round as zero.) I have nothing against the number eight. As a matter of fact, I always thought that "8" and I had a good relationship. Apparently, I was wrong. I only had time to knit a couple rows, but on row 17, I finally was able to work the row correctly the first time.
I thought I would post a couple pictures of my projects, but my camera had other ideas. It has an old war wound from a run-in with a tile floor a couple years ago. (I swear I was using the wrist strap! To this day I'm not sure how it fell.) If the damage weren't to the hinge that keeps the batteries in, it wouldn't be a big deal. However, my camera seems to think it needs these batteries in order to function. Oh well, perhaps a portion of the tax refund can go toward purchasing a newtoy visual-image-storage-device. I'll keep my fingers crossed. If I finish my projects before I get a new camera, I'll just have to cast-on something else...
Everything went really well this year. I was pleased to see a diferent set of women working in the office (much more confidence-inspiring than the last crew). There was no line, so as soon as they switched off we were able to get started. The woman doing our paperwork was fantastic. She knew about deductions and regulations I had never heard of and helped us tremendously. Not only did she help with the taxes, but she's a mom too and quickly whipped out clipboards complete with paper and pens and asked the boys to draw her some pictures. She came up with all the appropriate "oohs and ahhhs" and even gave them tape to post their artwork on the wall. Mega Kudos to her.
There were a couple sections that applied only to my husband, so I did have a chance to work on the dishcloth. It's a lace pattern that I've been wanting to try and I really do like it. Please don't be fooled by the language you may hear while I work on it. The pattern has an eight stitch repeat. That's all... eight little stitches. Why, that's not even a whole handful. I still have two fingers left over. I enjoy math, I like numerical puzzles, I have even been known to use algebra in real life. So perhaps someone can explain why I appear to be unable to count to eight. Eight is a nice number. It's about as round as you get (It's twice as round as zero.) I have nothing against the number eight. As a matter of fact, I always thought that "8" and I had a good relationship. Apparently, I was wrong. I only had time to knit a couple rows, but on row 17, I finally was able to work the row correctly the first time.
I thought I would post a couple pictures of my projects, but my camera had other ideas. It has an old war wound from a run-in with a tile floor a couple years ago. (I swear I was using the wrist strap! To this day I'm not sure how it fell.) If the damage weren't to the hinge that keeps the batteries in, it wouldn't be a big deal. However, my camera seems to think it needs these batteries in order to function. Oh well, perhaps a portion of the tax refund can go toward purchasing a new
The tax man cometh...
Ick. That pretty much sums up my feelings for this evening's activities. Ick. It's that time of year again. The time when we load the kids into the car, drive an hour or so to the mall, unload the kids and slog through the department store (please don't pull on the tags, Sweetheart), try to remember which side the toystore is on (No, guys, we are not here for toys. You already have wall-to-wall carpeting done in early-Lego. I'm sorry what was that? I'm afraid I don't speak "whine" and I think I already said "no".) and then try to find the tax preparer's new location. I'm not sure why they feel the need to grab a different place in the mall every year. I'm even less certain about their theory that an office in the middle of perpetual renovation will instill confidence in customers. It looks like they have set up shop for the night and may very well not be there if a problem pops up.
I probably wouldn't dread tonight's trip if it weren't our second attempt at getting our taxes done. The first time we finally got there only to wait in a line that moved at a glacial pace. The poor woman was working by herself and seemed a little overwhelmed. After nearly 45 minutes, her co-worker showed up. Yes co-worker... as in the singular form... as in, during the busiest season for tax preparers on one of their (apparently) busier days, there were only two people scheduled. I'm not sure who the other three desks belonged to but they worked nicely for holding jackets etc.
When it was finally our turn it turned out that we were missing one piece of paper that must have been fairly important. I found myself longing for the guy who did our taxes last year. We had a similar situation then, but he looked at the kids and either felt sorry for us or concerned for the condition of his office, because he went ahead and filled out everything else, saved the info and got the missing number from my husband the next day. We had to go back to sign the completed form, but it was quick and painless. Apparently, he was not in charge of training this year's crew. Oh well. At least we now know what we are probably going to be dealing with and I'll be more prepared. Last time I managed to leave part of my knitting at home. (I had yarn, needles and work-in-progress... everything I needed... except that pesky pattern. *sigh*) This time I'm taking the baby hat that is nearly finished (more on that later), the lace dishcloth that requires that I reknit each right-side row at least once to find the missing stitch and my drop spindle for calming my self when the re-knitting gets to me.
I probably wouldn't dread tonight's trip if it weren't our second attempt at getting our taxes done. The first time we finally got there only to wait in a line that moved at a glacial pace. The poor woman was working by herself and seemed a little overwhelmed. After nearly 45 minutes, her co-worker showed up. Yes co-worker... as in the singular form... as in, during the busiest season for tax preparers on one of their (apparently) busier days, there were only two people scheduled. I'm not sure who the other three desks belonged to but they worked nicely for holding jackets etc.
When it was finally our turn it turned out that we were missing one piece of paper that must have been fairly important. I found myself longing for the guy who did our taxes last year. We had a similar situation then, but he looked at the kids and either felt sorry for us or concerned for the condition of his office, because he went ahead and filled out everything else, saved the info and got the missing number from my husband the next day. We had to go back to sign the completed form, but it was quick and painless. Apparently, he was not in charge of training this year's crew. Oh well. At least we now know what we are probably going to be dealing with and I'll be more prepared. Last time I managed to leave part of my knitting at home. (I had yarn, needles and work-in-progress... everything I needed... except that pesky pattern. *sigh*) This time I'm taking the baby hat that is nearly finished (more on that later), the lace dishcloth that requires that I reknit each right-side row at least once to find the missing stitch and my drop spindle for calming my self when the re-knitting gets to me.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Oh, what a night!
Yesterday, the schools were closed because they thought we were going to have snow... again. I don't think the kids have had more than one full week of school since mid-January (which thrills them, but is rapidly driving the parents up the wall.) Having the kids home would have been fine if we'd had any sort of precipitation... at all.. in any quantity. What we had instead was a sky full of clouds... that's it, just big, fluffy, grey clouds that hung there refusing to drop anything at all. Finally, late in the afternoon the snow showers began and it was like people suddenly developed automotive amnesia.
"What is this white stuff? I'd better go two miles per hour." "Whew. That's better. Thank goodness I made it up that hill. Oh gosh! That hill has a side that goes down, too? With a curve?!? I know, if I push down hard on that long, vertical pedal. I can get past that tricky bit really quickly..."
Yes, yes, you can get past that bit quite quickly, and after they dislodge your car from those trees (which were the only thing that kept you from plunging to your certain doom), perhaps you'll remember that you are driving on a mountain road. You live in a town established in the mountains, we get snow every year, the shady spots are always the first to get bad and the last to clear and gravity is not just a good idea, it's the law. The laws of nature have not changed, and neither has the number of the guy who has to pull your car out of the ditch every winter. (By the way, his wife says thank you for providing them the means to take that cruise next week.)
The snow brought us not only the chance to bet on how many cars were going to wind up in the ditch, but also the chance to look at various animal footprints... including the set on our deck. I was enjoying the chance to squeeze in a little bit of education on a snow day right until my darling offspring said, "Oh, I know that one, it's a cat print. You know, I just heard a cat outside a couple minutes ago." A cat? On our deck? A couple minutes ago? But nobody we know around here has a cat. It's absolutely freezing out there (low teens). This can't be good.
I took a peek outside and sure enough, there was the cat. It's a beautiful, fluffy, ginger cat with a great personality. It's very friendly and playful and I'm sure it has just lost its way. My husband stated in no uncertain terms that the cat was not welcome to our spare bathroom, but he acceeded the garage after I pointed at the temperature. I checked with the local vets and the shelter, but either no one has missed our feline visitor yet, or the cat's playing me for a fool. My kids think the song "The Cat Came Back" is oddly appropriate for this situation. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that our situation is just temporary. Please keep all smirks covered and remember, I'm a knitter, I have lots of pointy sticks at my disposal.
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