Fits and Starts

My life is all about how to get something, ANYTHING! accomplished in my creative life. It gets to be like a broken record. A step forward, a step back. I'm home every evening this week, and behold how little I have to show for it. The upcoming weekend is full of plans and next week I have meetings three nights out of five. And so it goes.

I regained the ground lost with my colossal screw-up last night. I would say more about it all, but this is the season of gift-making and I don't want to give too much away. The walls have ears, as it were.

At any rate, that project was humming along and gathering momentum, when I heard familiar footprints padding around the house. It was Will, home for the evening and hoping for a hot meal. I could hardly stay sequestered in the studio. So that was the end of sewing for tonight.

While we sat and talked, I did work on knitting. I've made decent progress with the Wallaby and am nearly to the point where the pouch pocket rejoins the sweater. That means there's still a depressingly long slog of stockinette to go, but I'm choosing not to think of that right now. Good progress--that's the story I plan to stick with.

I'm itching to start another shawl.

Frustra--shee--own

It was an....interesting day at work. Due to holiday backups, we had no book delivery or pickup since the day before Thanksgiving. I had four full bins ready to go out and late yesterday afternoon the courier arrived to pick them up and to deliver four full bins for me. It all had to be processed before I left for the day. This kind of backup leaves me with some real concerns for the Christmas and New Years weekends. It really cuts into our hopes of providing decent service to patrons.

But that's out of my hands. I left the evening crew to call patrons about their book arrivals and we'll see what awaits me this morning when I go in.

I had hoped for some sewing time in the evening and hoped I could get a couple gifts completed. Instead I discovered I had screwed something up which will require STARTING COMPLETELY OVER on one item. That was it for me. I stomped upstairs and spent the rest of the evening glowering and watching Cold Case Files and Mystery Diagnosis.

But I had a thought about how to do something better, so hope springs eternal this morning. Meanwhile there's a day to put in at the library.

On a Roll

One of the most disconcerting parts of working full-time is that it's very hard to get in any physical activity. I used to be a three or four-time-a-week gym user. When my work hours increased, I kept up the gym membership for five full months without ever once darkening the door. Then I faced reality and, with great regret, dropped the membership. I really hate not having time for the gym. And I was running daily throughout all of last year. That has dwindled away also. Even walking is spotty--I'm lucky to get in a walk twice a week. And with winter coming on, it's likely to stay spotty.

But I was able to hit the ground running today. I walked before the serious rain moved in, and it felt good. My route is a loop around our neighborhood. It's about 2.5 miles and usually takes me about 40 minutes. Not terribly strenuous, but it's better than nothing.

Distances are so great around here that a few errands eat up the day in a way that just makes me want to tear my hair. Thank god for NPR. I spent about four hours zig-zagging around Waukesha County running several errands--JoAnn's, three different supermarkets (an organic one, a Mexican one, and my usual one), and the garden center. At Super Amigo Foods I stocked up on both the dried chipotle chiles and the canned chipotle and adobo sauces. With packaging like this, who can resist?

The garden center was a mass of shopping cart-clogged aisles, but I escaped unharmed with a Christmas wreath, as well as a couple small gifts, and a nice assortment of candles and poinsettias to add a little cheer. To put it in my DH's eye-rollingly favorite terms, 'Tis the Season.

I stayed on task after returning home too. A couple weeks ago, Caroline had asked me to make a pillowcase for a friend at school, a guy who's from Africa and has very few furnishings in his apartment. He loved it, and then all of a sudden I seem to have become committed to making pillowcases for the entire study group. That's half a dozen more.

This isn't inspirational, creative sewing. In other words, for me it's primo procrastinating material. (Ah, one of the consolations of getting older is in knowing oneself...) But amazingly enough I stuck with it and got those suckers all completed. They'll go in the mail Tuesday.

I also got a head start on another couple small gifts.

No actual sewing on Ephemera, but I did some thinking. And that's part of the creative process too.

Thanksgiving and The Day After

Thanksgiving came and went in a flash. Early in the prep time, I was taking thoughtful and well-lit photos of food like this,

and this,

but as mealtime approached, it got too frenzied to concentrate on anything else, and so there are no lush photos of nicely browned turkeys or of the table, with steaming dishes of food awaiting. That's the trouble with meals like Thanksgiving--labor-intensive right at the end.

But still, it was a fine day and it was lovely to see our guests, Rose and Jeff and family, including Rose's mom who is visiting from Florida. Much laughing and reminiscing. As we go on in life, we are lucky if we have some choice in who becomes family. And this is one of those lucky choices.

Yesterday brought a full day of work, but there were consolations. We had a visit from Sheryl, who was a vital part of the library till last June, when she up and moved away. While she was there, our retired long-time director Barb stopped in.

It looked very natural to see the two of them together. Later, Sheryl and I had time to meet for a glass of wine, a quick dinner, and catching up on the last six months of our lives. She's had a lot of upheaval in her life and is moving on to new challenges. That's right and proper. But I still miss her every day, and miss the great camaraderie we had. But life is change and so it goes.

Simple Gifts

It's tempting to feel so totally oppressed by the idea that the next, oh, five months or so are going to look like this that you forget to stop and enjoy the particular, if ascetic, beauty that winter has to offer. It's sad to see the leaves gone, but the outlines of the big old oak trees are interesting in their gnarliness. And the snow outlining each gnarly branch looks enchanting.

I was able to leave work in the early afternoon. I came home and threw myself headlong into prep--cleaning and then starting The Big Cook. It's fun, and I really enjoy getting out the dishes and silver that don't see the light of day nearly often enough.

The stuffing is made, the squash is cooked, cranberry relish is prepared, two loaves of pumpkin cranberry bread are cooling on the counter, chocolate sauce is finished, and spiced apples are sauteeing. The jury is still out on whether we really need mashed potatoes. I'm leaning toward a yes on the potatoes, but we'll see how I feel in the morning.

I think I'm about done for today. An early start tomorrow and things should be under control.

Context Is Everything

Jane and I drove over to Madison Sunday to check out a holiday art sale. One of the artists, who sells gorgeous beaded necklaces and bracelets, is a co-worker of Jane's at the Law Library. The sale was in a wonderful Arts and Crafts house in a tree-lined neighborhood and included a weaver, a woodworker, a quilter who will remain nameless, and another jeweler, as well as cider and heavenly brownies.

From there we hit Hue, a small gallery on Monroe street, also featuring an art quilter, and interesting artsy jewelery. Jane and I both checked off some names on the Christmas list. That's always a good feeling.

But the most interesting thing at Hue was one area featuring found art transformed by Heidi Anderson from cast-off UW equipment. There was a floor lamp made from a surveyor's tripod, another made from a wooden paint roller, surveyor's measuring sticks hung as wall art, and wire baskets from the old days of Phy Ed (bought one of those).

How my DH would have loved this gigantically oversized but fully functional slide rule. He actually has a collection of the things, but he has to keep them away from me. I endured adolescent trauma caused by nuns wielding slide rules, which may explain my brain shutdown when faced with the prospect of any math calculations more involved than what's required to balance my checkbook. Yeah, it's psychological. And I'm sticking with that story.

I really enjoy found art of all kinds. It stretches the mind, bends the perception, forces you to see in new ways, and always provides food for thought for days afterwards. And yes, context IS everything.

Stash Sunday

Flickr has a group called Stash Sunday. Every week they announce a theme and members post pictures of things in their stash, be it fabric, yarn, beads--whatever. This week's theme is "strange things in your stash".

I defy anyone to show anything stranger than this: the infamous dogs-eating-out-of-the-garbage-cans-behind-a-Chinese-restaurant fabric. I bought it in the great quilt shop in Minocqua, WI. That shop's now located in Hazelhurst, WI, but I got it at the old store. This sort of thing isn't their usual stock in trade--they tend to be traditional with a good lick of "Up North Shit" (read: cabin motifs, pine trees, bears, and moose) thrown in. This fabric was just so bizarre. I had to have it. A couple yards of it--I think I may have cleaned the bolt.

The rest of the story is that at this year's Rosemont show, I actually saw a woman wearing a jacket made out of this stuff. I had a chance to talk to her. She thought the fabric was just as crazy as I did.

And you know what? Her jacket was pretty cute. Hmmm...

The Knitting Fix

If I can't knit, at least I can find someone to talk knitting with.

It was a pleasure to see this smiling face at the library today. This is Hildy Helf, former owner of a LYS in the Milwaukee area, who has retired (sort of) and is now living in Eagle. As soon as she set up housekeeping in Eagle, she immediately began volunteering with every local organization she could find. The library has been the fortunate recipient of some of her services.

When she is at the library, she and I always have to squeeze in some time to talk knitting. I had told her about Sue W.'s quest for the pattern to a particular Alice Starmore sweater we had seen on display at Tall Grass a couple years ago. Hildy was able to find the book and actually made the sweater over the summer. A true woman of action! Unlike me who talks a project to death before ever casting on a stitch.

It's a silk/wool blend and is a sight to behold. She said it was great fun to make. The photo doesn't show it, but the ribbing flows into the design of the body of the sweater in a very pleasing way. The lucky recipient is a member of Hildy's family.

And now--the weekend stretches out in an inviting way. So many possibilities! I'm off...

Amazingness In Its Many Forms

Holy mackerel! Winter has descended. And it's only mid-November! Could this possibly be why they call Wisconsin the frozen tundra?

Yesterday on my way to work, I planned to stop off at the ATM and make a deposit in my daughter's account since it was her birthday. I pulled up to the ATM and discovered my car window was frozen and immoveable. I re-maneuvered the car so that I could open the door to deal with the ATM. The whole flippin' ATM was frozen! I wish I'd had the camera--droplets of ice frozen to the keypad and the card slot completely covered with ice. And this is only the beginning. How can we be expected to survive till spring with psyches intact?

As if to answer that question, this occured:

Long work day today, ending with a staff meeting. I knew that a new era had truly begun when each of us was presented with a holiday gift in the form of a sizeable gift card for the local supermarket. I had to hang on to my jaw to keep it from hitting the floor. The age of miracles is apparently not over.

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

Twenty seven years ago this morning I had plans to go shopping with my mother. I had a baby due in ten days, but was feeling absolutely fine, not even a twinge of labor about to begin. But I had an early morning doctor appointment. As I recall, it was early enough that I didn’t have breakfast beforehand. I said to my mother, “I’ll be back, have breakfast, and then we’ll go shopping.”

And you know what they say about the best laid plans. They aft gang aglay. The doctor examined me, announced that I was to head to the hospital IMMEDIATELY, and no going home first. And no food for me either. That was the worst part.

By five that afternoon, Caroline had arrived, and nothing was ever the same again.

There had been a time when I couldn’t imagine myself with kids. I had no brothers or sisters of my own and had done only a minimum of babysitting. I didn’t think I knew how to talk to kids. But with Caroline, that was easy. She was a person of worth, with opinions, and expected to be taken seriously. As long as we kept that in mind, everything was fine.

She always has had a unique way of looking at life. Whether it was wise-beyond-her-years observations made when she was little, or whether it was her later travels and exploits, she has colored and broadened my perception of the world in countless ways. I still marvel at her comfort in her own skin, which was apparent very early on.

I never could have imagined any of this the first time I held her.

You have kids, you love them, and they are your family. That’s the predictable course of events. What I didn’t expect was the eternal fascinating-ness of this person I gave birth to, the surprises, the ideas, the depth.

Happy birthday, Caroline!

Productivity

Happy dance! An unexpected bonus--I was able to leave work early this afternoon. What a gift--I dove headlong into my studio and got to work. I actually got some solid things accomplished and it feels like I'm on my way with this piece, even though there is still far to go.

Before I left work, I printed out some photo images on batik with only mixed success. What I have looks good, but it was nail-chewingly slow going and the printer was very balky. I ended up with three decent pictures. Don't know if I have the nerve to try for any more. Trashing a library printer might not be in my best interests, professionally speaking.

A pile of blocks is finished. Progress! I was working in the medium and lighter tones today and like what I'm seeing. The colors blend well and tell the story.

I finally tea-dyed some lace snippets that will be used in the seams and in embellishment. But most fun--I got my little postcards made. I printed out images from several penny postcards that my mother carried with her all through her life. She had received them from her father when she was about four years old. I sandwiched the images together so that they're fabric replicas of the real thing. They'll be used as embellishment. I want to have them loose somehow (maybe tethered to the quilt), so they can be read--the messages on them are quite poignant.

Best of all, after a great deal of thought, I finally have the name for this piece. It's Ephemera. Antique postcards and photographs will be part of the quilt, so it will be made of ephemera. And this is all I have of an ephemeral grandfather who was never a tangible part of my life.

Wonky Logs

I worked Saturday morning and, as expected, hell was a poppin'. A flu shot clinic was scheduled in the town hall, and all week we'd been fielding phone calls about the flu shots: Would the shots be given out? How much were they? Would Medicare cover the shots? Were we sure the shots would be given out? And so on.

We were expecting a big crowd and we were not denied. Let me tell you: seniors, bless their hearts, are a group with a lot of savvy and clout who demand their services and speak up if they aren't happy. They came with walkers, canes, wheelchairs, and scooters. And we were ready for them.

I even was able to run over and get a flu shot myself.

Never got to the sewing machine till nigh unto 3 this afternoon, but when I got there, I got some good, solid time in. I'm working on the Grandfather quilt, making lots of wonky little Log Cabin blocks, some in darks, some in mediums, and some in lights. The plan is that they'll moosh together and lead into a curved Flying Geese element that's already constructed. I got about a dozen blocks made, and I'm pleased with them. But holy mother of pearl--there is a long way to go.

There will be some lace incorporated and a lot of embellishment--beads and other things. In other words, once the machine stuff is done, there will be lots of handwork to keep me out of mischief.

I plan to use some photographs. I've already printed some out on printer sheets, but really want to print some on pale and medium batiks. I prepared some fabric with Bubble Jet Set, ironed on the freezer paper, and headed to the computer. From there things went rapidly downhill, as the first sheet became horribly jammed in the printer. Fortunately I was able to unjam, but the home printer is hopeless for this sort of specialty task. There is one at the library with rear feed, so I think I'll try my pictures on that one tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

I'm going to try Sonji's mantra of Finding Time To Work..a little each day. Yes, there is a lot to do on this quilt, but little bits of time add up. No major distractions this week upcoming, and I can find time if I really make it a priority.

Time for some knitting. The Trekking XXL socks are still underway.

A Story of Time

Time. The most poignant of stories concern this one barrier that can't ever be crossed. It holds us tightly bound to our own era and place. When I was a kid I used to think about time, wishing I could travel across the decades. It didn't seem like it ought to be impossible--to enter a room and encounter a past century. It seemed plausible that other times might exist as some sort of parallel world, near but untouchable. Why couldn't I travel somewhere and find it all waiting?

One of my grandfathers died nearly 45 years before I was born. He was my mother's father and many times I've heard the story of the night he was killed, when my mother and her brothers were awakened by a ruckus in the house and stood at the top of the stairs in their nightclothes, listening to the sad story unfold downstairs.

My grandfather was killed in Buffalo, New York, in a work-related railroad accident, due to a co-worker's being drunk and careless on the job. He lay dying in the railroad yard as the other men argued about who was at fault.

The accident happened before workers' comp, and before social security, when misfortune instantly could turn a family from middle class to destitute. My grandmother was left to raise five children under 10 years of age. It was the defining moment of the family's life; nothing was ever the same again.

This grandfather has been like a ghost in my life, a person who was real, but was lost in a dim long ago, and about whom I know very little. I tried to write out every fact I knew about him and could get no further than twenty things. I have two photos of him, his railroad watch, an autograph album, and a handful of postcards he mailed to my mother when she was a small child.

For several years I've been trying to get this story worked out in a quilt. It's a sad story, a family story, and I want to tell it but have had difficulty zeroing in on the right angle to use.

This is the story I would like to tell in a quilt--that this one man lived.

I still haven't exactly got my approach to the story worked out, but I have begun making component parts, and plan to work with them intuitively on the design wall. I wanted somber, funereal colors. I'm using an array of batiks as well as prints with the character of wallpaper and clothing from long ago. I hope to work in the photos and postcards.

Carving Out Some Time

My eternal dilemma is finding time to work at my art. I'm sure it's a dilemma many of us face. How we confront it is the difference between creativity and slugdom. And guess which side of that equation has been defining me lately?

I've been working full-time since June and my days have come to be portioned out in ways vastly different from a year ago. The gym membership and regular workouts have gone bye-bye, my eating habits have suffered, but most of all, my creative time has taken a huge hit.

My workdays can drain me mentally, and professionally this has been a difficult year in many ways. Some nights I come home with enough energy to flop on the couch and knit for awhile and other nights I haven't even got the energy for that.

Or maybe it's that I've allowed myself to back away a bit from my creative life. I hadn't attended meetings of my art quilt group for some months. A drive into the city after a full day on the job? No thanks. But this week I resolved to attend and it brightened my outlook considerably and provided a mini Aha! moment: maybe the energy is there but just needs to be channeled. It was just the jolt I needed.

And so, I made it into the studio tonight and Did Something. Sorted some fabric belonging to a long-running ongoing project, and made a couple strip sets. It's a start.

MArQ Night

Art quilt group meeting last night. It's generally a good time to network a bit and get a jumpstart for the creative juices.

Sonji Hunt is a very talented and newish member of the group, whose original slant on artmaking is exactly the sort of thing that keeps me awake till 2 a.m. after these meetings. She showed one of the evening's most inspirational pieces (sorry to not have a picture of it but take a look here), which is on its way to travel with a national show curated by Dr. Carolyn Mazloomi. She opened up/cut apart a quilt "that needed to breathe", inserted contrasting panels, and added lots of applique and embellishment. The result is vibrant and jazzy, the edges of the quilt literally unable to contain all the activity within. It gave me much to think about.

For the last several years, our group has sent entries to the group challenge of the AQS Nashville show, and have been very successful with it, winning a number of awards. Some rumbles are beginning to emerge that perhaps we have worked this one event enough and might move on to another focus. It'll be interesting to see how this idea plays out in the months ahead.

As for me, I need to get sewing.

A Wallaby Report

Sunday I was able to spend some time with the Wallaby sweater. Specifically, it was time to pick up the stitches for what will be the front pocket--the feature that makes it a Wallaby in the first place. I've never done this particular procedure before and it wasn't easy--picking up a proscribed number of stitches across a broad area.

I sectioned the area off, but still had trouble getting the right number of stitches distributed evenly. And I had even more trouble picking up the stitches from the correct row. I was reading the back section of the pattern, which is very wordy by the way, and see that a knitter had suggested carrying a contrasting piece of yarn across that row in preparation for the stitch pickup later. That's a good suggestion and I wish my eye had fallen on that paragraph before I started.

What's that they always say about reading the entire pattern through before you begin?

Cozy

Saturday's drive into the city involved getting up close and personal with the Marquette Interchange, the spaghetti-like freeway tangle in downtown Milwaukee that is undergoing a three-year-long total re-build. My trips into downtown are fairly infrequent, so the general chaos of city traffic is always a challenge too. I was prepared for all of that. But the unexpected aggravation was a Veteran's Day parade snaking around a convoluted route, leaving drivers to deal with much of downtown cordoned off and guarded by police on foot, in cars, on motorcycles, and on horseback.

It took three passes around, hopscotching through traffic and navigating a maze of construction, one-way streets, and police horse poop to find a route to get from downtown to Will's new place in the Brady Street area.

After the soul-draining ordeal of the drive into town, I needed immediate R and R. Will and I got ourselves over to Maharajah (walking distance from his place!) for Indian food, which helped considerably. Then we buckled down to the real business of the day--shopping for stuff for his apartment. It's his first place all his own, so he needed lots of Stuff. This involved trips to two different discount retailers, on opposite ends of downtown Milwaukee.

At some point during the afternoon, the skies opened up and it rained hammer handles the rest of the day. Thunder, lightning, hail--the whole package of hellish weather that November can pitch. This made my early evening return trip home interesting too.

There was a very comforting and welcoming fire blazing in the fireplace when I got home. I plopped down, took off my shoes, and knit all evening in front of the fire. Never budged till bedtime.

An excellent Saturday evening.

In the Fast Lane of Highway 50

Alice and Jeanne

Rose and Pat

Pat, Jane, and Jo

Marcia on the move

We were randomly thrown together, residents mostly of one wing of a dormitory at a small midwestern women's college in the late 1960s. Somehow the personalities meshed and a tribe evolved. There were numerous college escapades: the unexcused absences from class, the late nights, the impromptu road trips, the blind dates, the loser boyfriends. Did we really spend a night in a Notre Dame men's dorm? Yes, we did. And back then, they were ALL mens' dorms at Notre Dame.

By the time we graduated, the tribe had turned into a family of sisters.

We went our separate ways but happily those ways, for the most part, converged in one metropolitan area. (A shout out to Mary in Boston...) We've been through Life together--the high points and the lows, careers, marriage, children, health issues, aging parents, calamity and loss, laughter and tears. We've recharged on a number of road trips through the years, most memorably having shared a week in Nantucket in 1999. But mainly we meet for dinner. Grabbing time for this has always been a priority for all of us. One of those occasions was last night.

The plan was to meet at a spot convenient for two of the group who live in the northern Chicago suburbs. Four of us arrived simultaneously at the agreed-upon restaurant and discovered a mob scene and the news that our wait for a table would be "80, 90, or 100 minutes". (What kind of corporate restaurant focus-group mumbo jumbo is THAT?) So we marshalled our cell phone resources and quickly all agreed to meet at another place nearby, known as The Brat Stop.

The Brat Stop is not unfamiliar territory for us. It was the backdrop of a few of our past adventures, a hard drinking and dancing spot going back 30+ years. Or more.

In those days, a 40-mile drive didn't deter us in the least. Gas was cheap, beer was waiting to be enjoyed, we could drink there legally due to county ordinances. Say no more. We would be off, no matter that we had to hit a 12:30 a.m curfew back at school, appearing sober and in control for inspection by a sharp-eyed drill sergeant/nun (and I'm not making that part up) before we could crawl to our rooms. But by far the best and most sacred fact about The Brat Stop is that there, on one beer-soaked night in the early 70s, in one star-crossed and karmic moment in time, two of our group met their husbands.

"Star-crossed" is not an expression one normally would associate with The Brat Stop.

Fancy dining it is not. But that really doesn't matter. We had a great time, laughed a lot, got caught up, planned our annual holiday get-together, and gave some thought to next year. Perhaps another road trip? We're thinking Las Vegas or the California Wine Country... That's the way it is with this group--always a new group adventure on the drawing board. Friendship and sisterhood is the best spice of life.

As we were leaving, some very burly and scary-looking security people were taking their stations around the place. Apparently The Brat Stop still is a hard-drinking and partying sort of establishment, once the baby-boomers have paid up and gone home.

Our House in the Middle of Our Street

Maybe it's the fact that we are kids of the Age of Aquarius, but we've always kind of balked at The Rules. When we built our house, we were among the first to break ground in the neighborhood. It was out in the country and therefore easy to forget that, when built up, the neighborhood WOULD be a subdivision. There were some regulations that had been flashed before our eyes by the developer at some point, but we didn't pay too much attention.

This came back to bite us later when, after all the homes were built, a very, shall we say, over-enthusiastic neighborhood architectural board was hand-picked by the original developer. He wanted to ensure that his "vision" was in safe hands. The rules became more stringent and at meetings, one of the board members, an attorney, was able to throw up a pretty effective and intimidating smoke screen of legalese.

It always seemed to us the teeniest bit restrictive to have severe limits on what homeowners could and couldn't do when the yards are all so large--all the lots are between three and five acres. We can't even see beyond the next-door neighbor's house. And the next-door neighbor's house is pretty much beyond shouting distance.

This past summer, a letter appeared in our mailbox announcing a meeting to elect new officers to the Architectural Board. Much smirking and joking ensued at our house about what we've always called The Fashion Police. Mr. Kathie went to the meeting and to his surprise found himself elected to the Board, mostly on the merits of his always having been a thorn in the sides of all the previous Boards. This was a good sign.

Last night was the first meeting of the NEW Fashion Police, with Mr. Kathie as a member, and he came home dumbfounded but very pleased. The other new Board members are on the same page philosphically, very eager to ease restrictive rules. On examining paper work from earlier years, it appears that the aforementioned attorney took it on himself to add to and amplify rules that were never voted on by anyone, and was able to file them as official with the Town Board and the County.

So there is work ahead, but I think the majority of neighbors will be pleased. Here's a concept: we're grownups and can probably be trusted to do the right thing with our properties. And if someone wants a little yard art, I can hardly see it from my house anyway. Go for it.

Multi Effekts for Different Folks

This has been about the longest drawn-out sock project in the history of mankind. Begun in May and finished in late October, they have traveled to Pennsylvania, Michigan, and western Wisconsin. What a great colorway--Regia Multi Effekt Color 5384! There are gauge issues. Sock number one was completely finished before I realized I was using size one needles rather than size two. Brilliant. But I have skinny feet and they fit just fine.

In other news, The Girl from Auntie has a plethora of interesting nuggets.

I love it! In the great knitting melting pot of the Web, there is a slant on knitting for everyone. And absolutely right: Take away the window dressing and it's basic knitting. If this gets people picking up needles and yarn, I'm all for it. The knitting world is big enough and all-encompassing enough for all of us.

Then there's this. Probably wouldn't make this myself, but it's kinda fun in a strange sort of way. Whatever floats the boat...

Snapshots from a Typical Day

First we have the guy who totally confounds a Google search by typing in, "Please will you tell me..." And then he informs me that something is wrong with the computer beause he gets no search results. I compliment him on his politeness but tell him that Google values clarity over good manners.

Then we have the guy who types his entire message in the subject line of the email. As in, "Can you tell me what is going on with that book you ordered for me? (See email below)" And of course he repeats the whole thing in the body of the message.

How about the guy who is deathly concerned about ever getting an overdue notice because he worries about what the mail delivery person will think of him?

And my favorite: the people who call us asking for telephone numbers, especially the phone number of the other library which is about eight miles away.