February 2006 Archives

I keep crocheting the edging to the Baby Blanket and it...just...won't...end...

I pull yarn through hoops. I pull yarn through hoops. I crochet and crochet, but it Still Looks The Same.

I think it's been switched for some evil blanket that stays the same no matter what you do to it. Plus! My calculations which were very carefully calculate are all wrong. It's far more rectangle than it should be. But, it shouldn't be because I calculated it and stuff.

I think it laughs at me. And, when I go to sleep, it'll probably suffocate me.



Or, maybe I just need to get some sleep. That might be it. I hope so. I haven't really had a good sleep in days. I keep having bad dreams.

I blame the Baby Blanket.

Okay, it's official. The Baby Blanket That Rules My Life must be finished by Friday. I will be presenting it to the very pregnant friend on Saturday. I have to finish it and wash it and give it time to dry. So, in other words, I'm screwed. Well, maybe not. I only have to put the edging on, but the worst of it will be weaving ends in. I'm thinking I'm going to spend time doing that tomorrow to cut down some of the work. I have an RPG gaming thing on Thursday, so they may have to deal with me being the Viking ship's doctor with a scary tendency to get drunk and throw men over her shoulder declaring, "Come! You're Helga's toy tonight!" while crocheting a baby blanket. Might kill the mood a little, but oh, well.

On the other note, I did a swatch of the free form. It's not going to be like all that free form stuff you see around the 'net. Mine doesn't have the texture thing going for it more than the arrangement and color thing. I did a swatch and felted it to see what it would do. I was rather happy with the results. Strange thing was I didn't find that the crochet felting shrunk as much as the knitted felting. I think it did a little, but I'm not sure. The measurements I took before seem to be the same as after the felting. It might be the way I did it. I start it out in a pillow case in the washer, and fifteen minutes later, when it wasn't felting like I wanted, I threw it in the water as is. I took it out five minutes later and it was all fuzzy. Anyone else find the crocheted stuff doesn't shrink up the same? It might be because it was a single crochet stitch as well. We'll see. That last statement has two meanings: we'll see what it does when I felt it and we'll see if I actually have the ovaries to actually do a freeform piece in actual adult size.

I look at the nine balls of wool and I think, "T'ain't enough, I bet." And, I guarantee they don't have that dye lot in that green anymore. But, I reassure myself with, "Hey! It's freeform crochet! It'll look like you meant it to be that way!" This free form thing just might be cool. I can't seem to get the brain to figure out the texturerizing thing, though, were you've got some fluffy bits and flat bits and swirly bits. I think mine will just be flat. But, it's free form crochet! It works! Woo!

Listen to me as I give myself a pep talk.

Of course, among the deadline and the incredible urge to do free form for no reason other than I love the yarn, I have to get ready for the vacation in 12 days. (12! Count them! 12 days!)

And, I still want to cast on the socks.

It's the yarn, I tell you. They feed the sheep something. They turn them into narcotic sheep and it seeps into the wool, and you go to the yarn shop and are all touchy-feely and it seeps into your skin and you find yourself wanting your fix when you get home and HAVE to go back and buy more yarn and you HAVE to start twelve new projects because by this point you have enough of the narcotic yarn in your system that the pink yarn faeries are telling you all about the bliss you'll feel at the next project...

It's the yarn, I tell you...

Does it disturb anyone else that not only did someone get to my blog by googling "crochet tampon cozy" but that my blog came up second on the list?

Does it disturb anyone more that the next listing behind me was about how to make tampon cozies out of neckties?

All sorts of levels of wrong, ya'll. Seriously. WRONG.




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I was going to make an apology for my harsh comments to those who might find tampon cozies useful in some way, but I can't. In an opinion that's about as humble as Madonna on stage, it's still WRONG.

The yarn is staring at me.

It watches me while I sleep.

It whispers to me when I pass by it.

It sings to me as I work on the Baby Blanket.

It wants to be crocheted.

It wants to be freeform.

It wants to be mildly felted but not too much as to make it too stiff and thick, maybe lined on one side with nice fabric.

But, I fear it. I am afraid. It talks to me of lovely things with soft curves and colors that blend like dreams.

The yarn...is laughing at me.

It knows what will actually happen is I will crochet a sections, sew it together and the sheer ugliness of it will rip apart the space/time continuum and we'll all be sucked into an alternate reality where goldfish rule the world and bubbles are blown in squares.




Don't look at me, I'm not on anything. Really. Seriously. The closest I've ever come to being "on something" is Pixi Sticks, but that's legalized kiddie crack, so it's okay.

Anyway...

Okay, so it's a lofty poetical way of saying how frightened I am of actually destroying my love for the Lopi yarn by doing something horrible to it.

But, despite my obvious insanity, I am not giving up. I will freeform this yarn! It will be a blanket!

It also may end up at Goodwill, but hey, I can't say that I didn't try, right?



Okay, the train wreck has been cleared. Nothing to see here but a woman who is several outfits short of a trend with too many cats and a strange obsession with really bad song covers. ("Stand by Me" by Pennywise, ya'll. A good punk cover goes a long way. But, it's definitely not as bad as Tom Jones doing "Ain't No Sunshine". It's as bad as you think, but it's so great!)

Okay, I'm insane.

That's the only explanation.

How can I have a baby blanket to finish, have a knitted square undone, want to soon cast on a pair of socks, work all weekend on a potential butt cozy, and still want to do something else?

It was the butt cozy that did it. I also blame the Lopi yarn.

I was sitting there, happily knitting away at this chair pad/butt cozy, thinking how nice and soft and thick it will be when I felt it, and suddenly it hit me...I want to make it into a blanket out of it.

You heard right. We've gone from butt cozy to blanket.

I looked at the four balls of yarn I had for the chair pad, minus one ball that was currently knitted up, and thought, "You know, this stuff really would make a great blanket."

But, not any blanket, oh, no, a crocheted blanket. And, not any crocheted blanket. Nope. It must be freeform. I don't know why this is, but I look at this yarn and I think "freeform and felted" and I get all jiggly inside like jello at a rave.

Now, I haven't a clue at all where I arrived at this conclusion, but it was enough for my brain to announce that it did not have enough yarn to work with, and since I didn't have to spend as much at the vet's as I thought, then I could totally justify buying more yarn for this potential blanket. (Let's hear it for Justification!)

I think my brain is out to break me.

Let me explain that my attempts at freeform have been sketchy at best. Some people would say that it's the easiest thing in the world to do since you're just making it up as you go along, but after years of crocheting the old fashioned way, my brain can't seem to break the chains of good old boring symmetry. I start up okay, then I end up weeping for the chaos of it all and rip it out and start a granny square or something. For the life of me, I can't think why my brain is trying to sabotage me again.

But, it was enough to get me fixated on the idea. I spent all day at work trying to design a freeform blanket. Granted, this is probably against the very nature of freeform, and I'm sure there are people out there who would lynch me for such a sin, but I'm trying to break through barriers here and need a place to start. I figured a few scribbles between boring job duties couldn't be bad.

This, of course, cemented my facination and determination to finally make this work. I will freeform something not horrifying enough to make Cthullu laugh. I will crochet something chaotic and fun that will not make your eyes want to cross whenever you look at it. I will go to the yarn shop and buy more yarn...

Yeah, I did. I really did.

Five more balls of Lopi are now mine.

They stare at me in their lovely fluffiness enticing me to pet them, but underneath their come hither stares I sense a great desire to cause me to produce something even my cat wouldn't sleep on. And, yet, despite that, despite knowing it will probably all be laughable at best, I still want to do it. Such is my mania to conquer freeform crochet.

I'm telling you, insane.

And, I still want to cast on the socks.

So, when I finally crack and get sent to the Bin of Loonies, will someone please tell my friends that though I might be put away for being a few sheep short of a herd I am not dead and expect some kind person to bring me yarn and a very, big dull crochet hook (no pointy objects you know) to play with? Thank you very much. You're very kind.

Appearing for the first, but not last, time on the Crochet Cultist, I bring you our official mascot. Please give a warm welcome to Peaches, the Rubber Chicken.

No autographs, please.

Peaches likes long walks on the beach, sunsets, men who know their own minds, crocheting, and knitting. Her turn offs are roasting pans, rosemary, and basters.

I love Peaches. She's the Best Thing Ever. (Actually, Todd is the Best Ever because he gave me Peaches, but I figure for inanimate objects, Peaches is the Best Thing.)

Unfortunately, though awesome in every way, she does look as if she was hit in the face with a hammer. Repeatedly.

Poor Peaches. Anyone want to write her in for an extreme make over?

Anyway, normally Peaches' job is Chicken of Correction. This came about when I declared I wanted a flail but Todd wouldn't let me have one because he didn't want to bail me out of jail, completely ignoring the fact that there are people out there who need correcting. Later, I declared I wanted a rubber chicken, because until now, I had gone through life without ever knowing the joys of owning a rubber chicken. Now that I have one, I have decided a flail and a rubber chicken can be combined.

I use her to beat people.

She is a mult-purpose chicken. (She really came in handy when Todd was beating me with a stuffed pig we call Snort. Peaches was the perfect counter-weapon in the battle.)

However, for the purposes of this blog, I have decided that she would be better suited for a more Vanna White job. So, when she is on this blog, Peaches will be the Chicken of Showing Off Stuff. (I suck with titles.)

Peaches, do your stuff!

Here, Peaches happily shows off my latest swatch of knitting where I have learned to change colors. She's rather fond of this swatch because the colors match her complexion.

A close-up of the knitting.

Next down the aisle, Peaches escorts a lovely bit of felted wool that I decided to try.

Unfortunately, I was yakking on the phone and forgot to check the washer and I felted it more than I had intended. Also, to make the "duh" moment complete, I managed to wash the wool square before measuring it so I could figure out out how much it felted in the wash so that I knew how big to knit my next project.

Peaches rightly hides her head in shame for my idiocy.

But, still, it came out nice. I'm planning on using the wool to make a pad for my outdoor chair, which I will be using a lot very soon. I can't stand to be all bundled up on a cold night, sitting around a fire with friends, only to find that the chilled air is seeping through the fabric of the chair and making my butt cold. It's not pleasant. Hence the soon-to-be woolen chair pad.

Here, Peaches feels it's time to show off the new additions to the family. Friday was Yarn Day, after all, and you all know I spent way too long at the yarn shop, spending way too much money, and trying to figure out how I can get away with spending more.

This is beautiful, awesome, lovely, Lopi wool that made the square above and will soon be warming my butt on cold evenings. (Maybe I ought to call it Lisa's Butt Cozy.)

Of course, I didn't stop there. Peaches shows that I did break down and buy a how-to-knit socks book, some yarn suggested by the Sock Mistress at the yarn shop, and some DPNs. Notice that it is not the vintage sock book. That one was about $20 more and a lot more advanced than what I need at the moment. I just need a simple pattern for now. I will definitely own the other book eventually. Until then, this book shows me how to make plain old socks and has patterns to make toe socks. That's so awesome it hurts me. I think it might actually be so awesome it pains Peaches, too. Then again, I'm thinking she always looks like that, poor dear.

Ever the mother hen, Peaches reminds me that I have not yet finished the Baby Blanket That Rules My Life, but forgives me a little since I only have a few rows of the body and the edging left. However, if you notice by the glare in her eyes, she doesn't approve that I've picked up a knitting project instead. She has turned a deaf...um...ear...or whatever it is a chicken has to hear with...to my excuse that I need the chair pad within two weeks. She is pushing for the finishing of the blanket, so I guess I'll try to work on it tomorrow.

To continue with the sudden cat-blogging on Ye Old Crochet Cultist, I would like show you all a most pathetic, heart-wrenching, unbelievably obnoxious cute scene:

A Tabster in his natural habitat.


Sad, isn't it?

Tabster is one of the most laid back cats ever. Nothing bothers this cat. My two-year-old niece walks up to him and "gently" pats him on the head as if she were trying to pound him into the carpet, shrieking with delight, and he just takes it. (Well, he takes it for a bit, then he gets that very harrassed look on his face and quietly goes upstairs to join the other three cowards.)

He's my buddy. He's everyone's buddy. Hell, whenever we have to call the maintenance guy, Tabster even tries to lend a helping paw. (The maintenance guy was trying to fix something on the a/c a while back and Tabster kept going up to him as if to say, "Hey, buddy! Gonna use that wrench?")

Tabster is also costing me a fortune. Tabster has been diagnosed with diabetes. It's no big deal, really. He's on some pills for a while and probably won't have to start insulin for at least another year, but it means that he's on a special $30 per ten pound bag of food and has to go back to the vet every few weeks for a blood check and has to take pills twice a day. Of course, I don't mind doing all that - and I thank whoever's in charge of this universe that Todd was kind enough to offer to help with the expenses by way of, "Here, I have an empty credit card." - but wow if it doesn't get expensive. Especially since the easiest path to peace among the felines at feeding time is to just feed them all that same special $30 a bag food. Four cats eating on a ten pound bag, especially when you have two boys roughly the size of moose, means buying food every other week. Oh, yeah, my checking account weeps.

But, I love the big guy. He's a sweet cat with a sweet disposition (except for that time he nearly disemboweled my brother's dog) who loves to talk and who loves to make sure we're safe by ensuring we don't rush too fast down the stairs by playing speed bump on about the ninth step. He also reminds us to stop and "smell the roses" as it were, except it's more like "stop and pet the kitty."

Now, I can't say the cat blogging is at an end, but the grey streak of light we refer to as The Kitten is hard to catch on film. If I manage to capture this elusive creature, I'll be happy to post it here.




You know Lara's husband once declared that you have to be careful being a guardian to mammals of the feline persuasion because there's a really good chance you can break out in chronic cat.

I am an example of this. This is probably something I should be disturbed by.

Oh, just in case you were wondering, this little bundle of cuddliness is the Thug. The Bully. The Terror of the House.

Turns your blood cold, doesn't she?

Don't let this moment of serenity fool you. She's a Fury of Claws and Teeth. She's horrible. Vile. And, she knows she's damn cute.

If I can ever catch a picture of her when she's writhing on the floor in a sunbeam like the little love whore she is, you'd completely go into a sugar coma and I'd be sued by your family.

Her power is terrible, it is.



I can't have normal animals.

Everyone, meet Merlin.



It's a rare picture of tranquility as he's usually tearing around the house like a maniac.

Merlin is my big boy.

Merlin is a sweet cat.

Merlin is a neurotic.

I had my suspicions about this whenever something would upset whatever passes for routine around here and he'd poop on the floor right in front of the litter box. He's been doing that for years, so I got used to it.

Well, Todd moved in which really upset the "routine" or whatever it's called, especially since he brought in another cat. I expected some rebellion and a showering of Merlin "gifts" as it were. For a while, everything was good, but then the proverbial flood gates were opened.

It was okay. I expected it. He's insecure and stuff.

Well, this was followed by puddles.

Puddles are not normal. Puddles only happened once when he was telling me a former roommate was a less than stellar person by puddling on his laundry. (Hey, the cat was right, I don't blame him for it now.)

Still, puddles don't happen unless the litter box is really dirty and he needs to let me know it's really dirty. I clean it every night so that wasn't it.

I got a little worried about the puddles.

Todd pointed out that his more solid gifts weren't...so...solid.

Oh, damn.

So, it was time for a trip to the vet, because you know, puddles and things could be a sign of something worse.

I took him and his puffed up tail out of the carrier at the vets and they took him to the back area and ran tests and whatever. Then, it was time to wait.

Thirty minutes later, the vet reappears.

"The good news is he doesn't have anything wrong with his urine," she says.

Oh good.

"The bad news," she adds with me thinking this is where the horrible stuff comes in, "he's got psycho-traumatic urinary blah blah blah."

Translation: My cat is a neurotic.

She literally said that if it continues on as is, then she will put him on the equivalent of kitty Prozac.

My Merlin-monkey isn't sick, he just needs a shrink.

$60 for that conclusion. Great.

Well, at least now I know.

That truly sad thing is I know how to cure it. He's a cat who needs routine. The problem is my life is anything but routine. We have a few daily occurances that could be considered routine, but he literally needs everything to be a routine. It gives him comfort. Unfortuntely, I can't give him that. However, I can give him what little routine I can and lots of love and hope for the best.

Until then, there's a reason I have the carpet cleaner.

I love my Merlin-monkey...I just wish he wasn't so leaky.

My friend Lara called me and emailed me to brag about her husband who truly loves her.

First of all, several days ago, after she whined at him for leaving work so early, he declared that he had to go to work so he could earn more money so she could buy more yarn.

This melted our hearts because it showed the level of devotion for his lovely wife and made certain we would not let all of his hard work go to waste. We would definitely make sure his hard-earned money was spent on the fluffiest yarn available. After all, it's what he wants.

Today, St. Valentine's Day, she called/emailed/smoke signaled/sky wrote to announce that he showed up at her job WITH a gift certificate FOR....the yarn shop.

Let the jealousy run rampant.

He may not understand the yarn obssession, but he encourages it. Did I not say a couple of posts ago how awesome that would be?

Yeah, we're all foaming at the mouth jealous. Because you know, a gift certificate for fluffy, warm, comforting yarn...THAT'S romance.

Hollywood could learn a few things.



Although, I have to tell you, I didn't know the yarn shop had gift certificates and decided that for birthdays, Christmas, etc, I was going to get everyone to pool their money together and get me a monster gift certificate. It would be the only way I could afford the $34 a skein handpainted yarn.

Works for me.



What did I get for Valentine's? My baby sent me flowers at work (sunflowers and baby's breath), complete with a little beanie bear, took me out for Indian food, and gave me a rubber chicken.

That's right, a rubber chicken.

I told him a year ago that I had never known the joys of owning a rubber chicken, and today, he gave me one.

Her name is Peaches.

I love that man.

To risk sounding like Harriet Housemaker here, my lovely Todd bought us a carpet cleaner. We were going to hold off on it, but my cats have declared war on the carpet and he took it upon himself to buy one early.

I got it home and immediately cleaned the living room carpet.

I didn't know under that cat hair and three tanks of black water (blech!) was a carpet, but it's there. It's now all nice and fluffy and relatively clean.

I think I may have to name the carpet cleaner. I do believe it is now a member of the family. I think I'll call it, Fluffy. (Let me tell you, after a few passes it tends to grow fluffiness. I knew we had cat hair, but I never knew it was enough to stuff a couch.)

Incidentally, I never thought I'd be so excited about a cleaning apparatus. It's making me wonder about myself. If I start wearing a pink, puffy fifties dress, popping Valium, and baking cookies, please save me from myself.

Oh, yeah, baby. Yarn Day is a-comin' soon. I have been knitting and crocheting squares with the synthetics in the closet in order to deplete their stores, but as that happens, I must replace them with Real Yarn. Wools, cottons, blends, and even other synthetics but of better quality. Life is too short for bad yarn as a dear friend (Lara!) has taught me.

Being a very bad blogger, I haven't taken pictures of the lovely lace-weight merino wool I've been buying. Oh, ya'll, it feels like clouds it's so soft! I have some in black and plum and I plan to buy some every pay check. I mean, it comes in 1300 yards a pop for about $13. I will not pass that up. Unfortunately, it might not be enough to crochet with so that's something I'll probably have to knit with, but hey, I'm not complaining.

Also, I'm on the hunt this week for that vintage sock book, some DPNs, and some suitable yarn with which to begin socks. I might attempt a few more squares, but I'm too damn impatient and want to start on the things that will get me the socks, like knitting in the round. That's going to be interesting. Although, I might be turned aside by some fuzzy wool my mind keeps wandering to...

As mentioned in the previous post, there's this very wooly Icelandic wool I'm itching to play with. It's one of those wools that feels rather rough when you first touch it, but the more you get to know it, the more you see it's softness and its potential. It's Lopi, which I'm sure most of you have heard of. The yarn shop here has it in the most amazing colors in worsted weight and chunky. It's incredible felting wool. Being an SCA person and spending much of the year tenting and sitting around hot fires on cold nights, I'm wondering what it would do as a blanket, maybe lined on one side. I'm even considering the felting thing, but I'm going to try something different to see what kind of levels of felting I get. I'm seeing lots of potential in that wool. Lara is making some socks out of it with one of those knitting hoops. I'll keep you updated on the results. I'm thinking of working up some quick squares of it and doing some experiments. (I know I'm stuck on squares, but they're the easiest things in the world to work up and they are wonderful when trying out new yarn.) Again, I'll keep ya'll posted.

I actually think I can finish the Baby Blanket the Rules My Life by this weekend, start some socks and start a wool lapghan. Too lofty of expectations of myself to start a knitting and crochet project? Maybe, but life just isn't fun without a good challenge, right? Besides, my upcoming SCA vacation in March may prove to be a chilly one and the more wool I have the better.

Either way, pay day this week is going to be spent in bliss at the yarn shop, because, you know, yarn is fluffy, warm, lovely, and comforting. Yarn is Love.

I think I need my own sheep.



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Speaking of Yarn being Love, it occurs to me that anyone who has a significant other who knits/crochets/weaves/spins/has an obsession with yarn, the most romantic thing you can do for that person on Valentine's is to take him/her to the yarn shop and say, "Here, my love, go crazy." Of course, you might want to actually say, "Here, my love, go crazy within the limits of our checking account/credit line/loan/mortgage payment." to avoid problems, but just taking your loved one to the yarn shop and offering to buy yarn to me is very romantic. Not many significant others understand the yarn obsession and those who offer to buy yarn at least show a willingness to accept if not understand the love of the yarn. Offering your understanding for that which your loved one adores is very romantic. To me, anyway.

We here at Crochet Cultist realize that there has been an influx of knitting on this blog, which may disturb some crocheters. Well, we are here to put some minds at ease.

While the knitting instruction is very...um...instructive, rest assured there is much crochet going on. The crocheted Baby Blanket The Rules My Life was put on a week's vacation, but it has been dug out of it's bag and its ruling of my existence continues. It is about 3/4 of the way finished. Pictoral updates will happen soon.

There are also many crochet plans in the works for some lovely Icelandic wool I wish to experiment with and have plans to attempt a laphan with it's wooly goodness. (Knitting is all well and good, but blankets, though I love them, tend to be boring after a while, and the faster I can get them done, which is through crochet, the better.) There might even be some paper mache updates soon if I can get it in gear. (It's the hands, I can't figure out the hands...) That might not reassure crocheters, but at least it tells you we're not all knitting all the time. Either way, the crochet lives, it's just a bit over-shadowed at the moment by my obsession to learn how to knit socks.

If there are any other concerns about the lack of crochet, I would like to take this moment to address them with the following statement:

It's my blog, I can knit if I want to.

Thank you.

Or, is it really #2 since I didn't actually finish the stockinette thing I started? Instead I ripped it out, asked for help at the yarn shop (as seen in the last post), and suddenly got very cocky and decided to go another route.

Firstly, I would like to thank the yarn shop mistresses for their aid. A lot of things about knitting suddenly make sense, thanks to you. I have a lot to learn and a lot to practice, but despite my random reversed stitches, dropped stitches, and weird lumps, I feel that I am well on my way to beginning my first pair of socks. Yes, I'm sure I'm rushing it, but I figure that when I present Todd with his first pair of handmade socks and he questions why there are weird snags and loopy things that probably shouldn't be there I am within my rights to say, "It gives them character." Best beginner's cop-out ever.

Secondly, I am in love with this book.


The sock mistress of the yarn shop suggested it to me. It tells a beginner knitter everything from how to cast on to how to increase/decrease stitches to how to read a color chart to how to do entrelac. It's all written very clearly and easy to understand and the patterns Ms. Bliss offers are really nice. (I've seen some beginner's books where I have to wonder if the person who wrote them think all beginning knitters are double-jointed, lacking in taste, and engineers.) Hell, with the aid of this book, suddenly knitting patterns don't look like Egyptian hieroglyphics. I recommend this book to any beginning knitter. It's been a great help.

Now, I guess it's time to cough up the goods. I started this square in a darker green, but my tension got all funky and I switched stitches and dropped stitches and all sorts of other hilarities. As I ripped it out, I decided it was too dark for this pattern and went a little lighter on the green and tried it again.

Barring a few errors, I'm hoping I didn't do all that badly. Please excuse the curling at the edges, I had to add some stitches to get the square I wanted, I'm still learning to adjust my tension, and I haven't blocked it yet.


I believe the pattern is call the "Tree of Life" or something. I'm enjoying the textured kind of thing. It's teaching me to pay close attention to the pattern, and what starts out as a bunch of numbers and letters suddenly becomes a neat little design. Tres cool. You will note the glaring error on the right hand side of the square. I think I zoned out and got same stitches switched. I didn't notice it until I was almost finished and decided that going with "It has character" excuse was good for my sanity. And, of course, since I see that, I can see other things that need working on, but not this time around. This square is finito, and I intend to keep it that way.

This is the reverse side of the square.


And, a close up.

What do ya'll think? It isn't perfect, but I had fun doing it.

I'm thinking of doing something that requires multiple colors next. I'm scared to death of cabling, but I'll try it eventually. Entrelac? Yeah, well, I may be ambitious and may have set lofty goals for myself, but I'm not completely out of my mind, despite what my friends think.

Now, let's see, what did I learn from this one:

1. While cursing is acceptable - even necessary according to some people who say it's not truly your piece until you've insulted its lineage - cursing loudly enough to cause my boyfriend to wonder if I've stabbed myself with my needles is probably over-the-top.
2. Eighties movies are the perfect background for knitting. The mindlessness of the eighties doesn't interfere with the thought processes needed to follow a pattern. (Unlike "Serenity" during which I didn't even attempt to knit. Good thing. Those little trees would have probably come out looking like something Morticia Addams liked to arrange in a vase.)
3. My cats still don't care about my accomplishments.
4. It is possible to go to the yarn shop and not buy yarn. It hurts and it makes one feel off-balance for days, but buying a book helps.
5. I notice while sitting there knitting with this synthetic yarn (have to get rid of it somehow) I find I am haunted by the voices of many sheep who demand to know why I'm not using their wool and if I think I'm too good for it or something.
6. Snow is very conductive to knitting. Oh, yes, warm fire in the fireplace and a cold, cold day with a light dusting of snow... Most people would think of something romantic, and while I do sometimes, curling up on the couch and knitting (or crocheting) during a cold bleary day is bliss.
7. Cats will not get up and poke the fire for me just because I need to finish a row.
8. Post it paper to mark the page in the book and mark rows is a beautiful thing.
9. It's okay to ask for help.
10. Knitting needles are the best back scratchers this side of your significant other's finger nails.

Well, there you have it, Knitting Attempt # 2 or 3 (depending on how you want to count it). I'm feeling confident now that I've done something that does a lot of switching between knit and purl stitches that I can attempt a stockinette stitch again and show it who's boss. Then again, my confidence might be actual cockiness which could get me struck by much lightning via the yarn gods...but I'm willing to take my chances.

I have no pictures today because I had nothing to show. I tried several experiments on the square, but they were all frightening to say the least. I knew what needed to be done to achieve the things I wanted, but it was as if I couldn't quite understand the execution.

Yes, the stockinette stitch is still kicking my ass.

Or, was, rather.

I took a break from the Baby Blanket That Rules My Life, and attempted knitting every chance I got today. Yeah, it was pretty sad stuff. There were times I truly sorry for the pitiful things my needles produced. By the end of the work day, where I had knitted during breaks and lunch, I had decided to seek professional help.

(No, not that kind of professional help. I swear, can't take you people anywhere...)

So, when I opened to the door of the yarn shop and a friendly smile asked me if I needed help, I had to resist throwing myself to the floor and weeping. Instead, I said, "Do you have any how-to knit books and maybe some books on how to knit socks?"

"Oh, you need to talk to May! She's the Sock Mistress!"

About that time, the apparently legendary May appeared. She's a very friendly and pretty woman who was immediately helpful when I explained my needs. She pulled out one how to knit book and several sock books and sat me down at a table where she was kind enough to answer my questions. Questions like, "I get this loopy thing at the end of the row. How do I destroy it?" and "Why does my purl stitch look like it was knitted by someone with no thumbs?" She was very instructional, and as I spoke with her, the light bulb went on and suddenly a lot of things became clear. Suddenly, I got it.

I also got a damn nice knitting book. I am currently using it to knit a rather interesting square that is not only stockinette but textured. Ooooooooooooooooh. That's right, I skipped a few levels and went right to a minor boss. Once I beat it and gain some experience points, I'm going for the socks!

Okay, I'll be going for another square, but that's not going to stop me from buying this book:


Oh, yeah, baby. It's all about the socks.

And, stockings! Ms. Bush thought of people like me and left a pair of stockings that was pretty close to the original patter in the book for historical reenactors and SCA folks. Oh, yeah. Nice warm stockings for my legs. Mmmmm....

Anyway, I hope, with the encouragement and instruction I receive today frm May, to start on my first pair of socks, very soon. She was very adamant that they weren't all that hard, just involved. I can do that.

So, despite the setback, my excitement has been renewed.

We loves the yarn shop, Precious, yes we does.

The stockinette stitch square I started today because it went so well the first time I tried it, however briefly, on Sunday, is kicking my ass. Apparently, the yarn gods felt I was a little too cocky for my own good and are now chortling to themselves as I rip the freaking thing out for the TENTH TIME TONIGHT.

Not even a glass of wine helped.

But, never fear. This has me frustrated, yes, but I have not given up. I will continue, and I will prevail. Because, by God, that damn yarn is going to do what I want it to do or it's going to get hit with a hot poker! A lot! You hear me yarn?!

I guess I told it.

Hmph.

It'll all be better tomorrow.



--------------------
I would like to note that I realize that in my previous post I recounted how threatening the previous ball of yarn with an untimely death in the fireplace only exasperated the situation and suddenly I found all sorts of "accidents" in my knitting while the yarn laughed at me. Knowing this, you would think I would learn from my mistake and not push my luck with the yarn. There are two reasons for this: a) it's a different ball and color of yarn and not as pretty so maybe it's not as smart and will bend to my threats and b) when it comes down to it, sometimes I'm just not the brightest crayon in the box.

As I've mentioned, I want to learn to knit socks. I have a vacation coming up the middle of March, and my goal is to be working on my first pair of socks by then. Six weeks. Can she do it, folks? We'll see.

But, for now, let's focus on the basics.

Here's what happened on my first attempt at the needles since my last knitting experience when I realized I have the coordination of a drunk goose.

It all started out well. It was a cold grey day, Todd was gone for a few hours, and there was a nice fire crackling in the fireplace.

See? Cozy.

I dug out my How-to books, my knitting needles, some scrap yarn I had in the closet, and curled up on the couch to knit.

My first How-to book was written by someone who is apparently a yogic master. It's not that it was hard to read, but she had her fingers and hands in such odd postures and positions just for casting-on that I felt like I was reading the Kama Sutra of knitting. My fingers could not and would not do that, and I've been watching knitters for a while and they didn't ask their digits to do that. So, I switched to this little pamphlet book I had bought. It was much easier to understand, so feeling better, I cast on.

Then, I ripped it out.

Then, I cast on.

Then, I ripped it out.

Then, I went and got a glass of wine.

Hey, sometimes you need a little "aid" in these things.

Actually, a friend teases me because she says that it seems like I do my best yarn work when I'm drinking something alcoholic. Whenever I get frustrated about something, she tells me that I obviously need another drink. Of course, she's just teasing, but she may be on to something. It was after working on that damned lace snowflake centerpiece for three weeks when I noticed there was something wrong, but couldn't figure it out. I was drunk on tequila when I found the twelve mistakes in the pattern. I might have to take her teasings seriously.

Especially now. After some calming sips of wine, I cast on again.

And, here it is! My first official cast on, and I didn't have to surgically extract my elbows from my ears!

I was rather proud of that moment.

So, I plowed on with a simple regular knit stitch. It seemed to go rather well. Although, I admit I do this weird thing where when I yarn over the needle I tend to brace the right hand needle on my knee and take my hand off of it to yarn over. I'm not sure why I do that, but it works for the moment. I do worry that it's causing a bit of a problem. I kept getting this loop at the end of my rows like the last stitch was just looser than the rest. It seemed to go away once I knit the row above it, but the sides aren't all that even. Any advice on how to stop that?

Either way, I kept knitting. At one point, I started purling, just to see what it was like. I was proud of myself. Once I got over the idea that purling wasn't as backwards as a hillbilly, it was fairly easy. Then, feeling brave, I started a stockinette pattern. I had this little sampler thing going for a bit. I thought it would make an interesting granny square, a sampler into my first foray into knitting. This is where it turned into an industrial accident. My friend tells me it was because I dared to have a clever plan and the yarn gods punished me, but I think it was because I was watching the Battlestar Galatica mini-series for the first time. (Note to self: trying to teach yourself to knit is hard enough, but watch a movie where every fifteen minutes is a "Holy Hell in a hand basket!" plot twist makes it nearly impossible. It causes lots of strange things to happen.) (Although, I would like to point out that my stockinette stitch, for the whole hour it existed, wasn't half bad.) I ripped it back a couple of times.

Finally, I came to my senses and just stuck with a knit stitch(or garter stitch or whatever you call it. I'll eventually learn the lingo). I was trying to get ahead of myself and I got a desire to cry a lot, so I went back to basics. Aafter hours of ripping back and trying again and two glasses of wine and finishing the next afternoon, I had my first knitted square.

It's a little raggedy on the edges and not perfect, but I'm rather proud of it.

Here's a close up.

Not bad for a first timer, I think. I have a lot to learn, but I think I at least have the mechanics down. What do ya'll think?

Now, this is the part where I tell you what I've learned from the experience:

1. I do not have to learn it all in one day. It is possible for me to take my time and learn different stitches and patterns one at a time. Trying to learn them all at once will make make my brain scream, and yes, my cat was laughing at my frustrations.
2. I shouldn't watch an intense movie while trying to learn to knit. Just because I can mindlessly crochet, doesn't mean I can do that with knitting right away. I have to remember that I have been crocheting for 24 years. I've only been knitting for 24 hours. There's a bit of an experience difference there. One day I can mindlessly knit, but for now, I'll have to at least use half a brain if I'm going to learn this stuff.
3. My cats don't care. Showing them what I've done because no one else is home really won't give me the ego stroke I'm looking for. In their opinions, I cannot in any way compare to a warm fire and will be summarily ignored unless I bear food.
4. I love Todd. He didn't mock me after the fourth time I ripped the thing back. He rewound the DVD when I missed something because I was cursing at the yarn. He gave approving comments after I finished the square and even touched and felt it. THAT was an ego stroke. The cats could learn something.
5. Threatening to throw the yarn into the fire will not make it knit for me. I slipped up there. I failed for a while to let the yarn know who was boss, so it laughed at me and gave me some dropped stitches and a knot or two. I am humbled.
6. Wine never hurts when you're frustrated with yarn that refuses to cooperate. It just doesn't.

So, there you have it. Part one in my escapades with knitting. It went pretty well, I thought. I didn't stab anyone with the knitting needles, including myself; my elbows acted like elbows and stayed where they were supposed to; and not once did I shout, "Trying to catch a bullet with my teeth is easier than knitting!"

A pretty good start, I say.

I was reading the last post earlier and realized that not only can I not type, but there's a distinct possibility I can't spell. I can tell you I was drunk or tired or on drugs, but there is no excuse other than laziness. Apparently, running a spell check was too much effort.

But, hey, if my ballistic approach to spelling gave you a laugh, at least it accomplished something.

I tried to learn to knit. As I mentioned earlier in the blog, my elbows always try to crawl into my ears when I attempt knitting. The knitted thing also tends to look like an industrial accident. After a while, I tend to rip it out, curse it, toss it in the closet, and pick up a crochet project to make myself feel less inept.

But, I've come across a few realizations:

1) I need ti learn to knit because it's necessary. As I've said before, as a fiber artist, I feel it is my duty to learn more than one way to make yarn do my bidding.

2) Crochet uses fifty percent more yarn than knitting which can make my debit card scream and spontaneously combust when I buy yarn (real, wooly stuff) for a project. Besides, I have tons o' yarn from the hoarding that took place during the Project That Wouldn't Die moment when a crochet pattern and I rumbled for four years. It won. Now, I have all this blue variegated yarn. With crochet, I could make a monster of a blanket. With knitting, I could make a blanket, five shawls, a slip cover for the couch, some drapery, booties for the cats, and enough berets to make people think a Frenchman exploded in my house. There's something to be said for that.

3) There are some things you can do with knitting that you can't do with crochet and vice versa, so I need to learn to do both so I can be Super Fiber Artist Woman and go up five levels and possibly win a free life.

4) I need one more hobby with which to scare my boyfriend. I love the looks Todd gives me when he thinks I've lost the last brain cell. It's a cross between "Maybe I should call her doctor" and "She's weird and I love it." If I wasn't a bit of an odd duck, I think he'd call me boring.

5) I admit that I like the clicking of the needles. There's something to be said for the click, click, click of the needles. I also love the shushing whisper of the crochet hook as it pulls loops. There's something meditative about it all, and I want it all; therefore, I need to learn to knit.

6) I don't like being beaten. It blows my mind that I can understand the mechanics of an action but not be able to get my hands or elbows to perform said action. I know it takes practice, but I've been manipulating yarn since I was eight and to have something so simple as knitting beat me is so damn aggravating. The yarn is my slave, dammit, and I should be able to knit it into submission! It has challenged me. It laughs at me. I think it's calling my mother names. I can't let that go without a fight.

7) I need another option. Christmas is only eleven months away, and I hate giving everyone the same gift. If I had another option in the Way I Show Yarn Who's Boss Department, everyone wouldn't feel as if I was skipping like a scratched record when they open their gifts. Some of those afghans can be knitted instead of crocheted. That could really blow their minds and bring out the oohs and aahs. (It's all about the oohs and aahs, babies.)

8) I want to knit socks. I want to knit socks. Let me repeate that, I want to knit socks. I have cheap socks. They are falling apart. They are thinning and have holes in them. I am all about the bare feet, but when it's so cold that my toes are turning blue while in my boots, I want some nice wool socks. I also have a hobby called the SCA in which there are times when I go to an event where there is nothing between me and frost on my leg hairs but an ankle-length cotton dress and a wool cloak. It ain't enough. I want to have socks for the winter for any time. I want to have socks I'm not afraid to wear when I go camping. I want to make stockings that will make me feel all warm and fuzzy. I want to make socks of the funkiest colors ever so when I wear them with my piggy slippers my lovely Todd will have a huge laugh. I want to look at the last two skeins of one luscious color in a sales bin and think, "I can't make much out of it, but it'll do for a pair of socks!" (I figure socks are the best reason ever for random yarn buying breakdowns.) I want to learn to knit socks. All would be right with the world. I'm even thinking it could be the answer to world peace. There is only one problem I can discern. I'm thinking my sock-thieving cat my like those a little more than my usual cheap socks and refuse to give them back. The cheap socks might be her generals, but the nice wooly once will become dictators or gods or something. It is a worry.

One way or another, I'll have to duct tape my elbows to my side and learn to knit. I will attempt it again tomorrow (or today since it's after midnight) after I clean house. I'm sure I'll be happy to blog the horror stories soon after I take a few valium.

As I said in a comment the other day, I've come to the realization that there is a great deal of yarn in the yarn shop that I want to buy just so I can walk around the house petting it. Yes, I know this sounds slightly...off, but come on, there isn't a fiber artist out there who didn't find a wooly yarn that's fuzzy and in plump powder puff balls and so soft that it made you want to live in the bin that it sat in. (I came across some alpaca that I threatened to leave Todd for. Oh, yes, I would fill a bathtub with it just so I can sit in it for hours.) So, I'm thinking that my thinking that some yarn is just tribble-yarn isn't all that odd. You only want it because it's fuzzy and cute and you wouldn't mind calling it Wilson if you were trapped on an island with it.

And, with this theory comes a question: why can't my yarn multiply like tribbles? It doesn't have to purr or anything, just multiply. Oh, sure, Todd might be a little annoyed at coming home to a sea of tribble-yarn, but I think he'd get used to it eventually.

I realize that this is all just yet another peek into my weirdness, but I think I did come up with a cool Christmas gift for the crocheters/knitters/weavers/etc in my life. I'm going to buy big, fluffy balls of yarn, glue huge, googly eyes to it, and give it to them as pets. I think it would be a real hoot.

Don't look at me like that. If some guy can sell pet rocks in the eighties, then I can sell pet tribble-yarn.

The tribble-yarn is cuter anyway.

...that I haven't posted any embroidery projects.

Actually, I only have two. I'm a new embroiderer, you see.

One is finished...sort of. Well, it was finished, then I decided to turn it into a tree ornament, which is still in progress, so it's in it's 2.0 stage, I guess.

I also have one other work in progress that's an embroidered translation of an illumination from the Aberdeen Bestiary. Unfortunately, I'm not very far into it. I tend to cycle through my hobbies for whatever reason and I cycled out of it into paper mache and from there back into crochet (as always) and just haven't come back to embroidery yet. It will be finished eventually, though. If anything, it's the thing I tend to do at SCA events, and considering we have a week long event coming up the 12th of March, it's going to have a lot done to it very soon, I'm sure.

Either way, I'll try to remember to take some pictures and post them.

Or ignore them like I've ignored everything else because my master, the baby blanket, commands all.

(By the gods, I hope it comes out okay, and I hope it's not as dull as I think it is, and I hope the baby at least has the decency to wait until I'm finished with it before he bursts forth into the world.)

Apparently, I am a masochist.

Today, I left my crochet at home.

I know, I know. I'll seek help soon enough.

See, the thing is I normally don't bring crochet to work because I get those wistful sighs and guilt-inducing tones surrounding the words, "I wish I had one of those." This translates into, "I know you don't really know me all that well, but I would really like you to spend hours and hours of your life to crochet me one of those and just give it to me because although I'll spend $200 on a hair cut, I would never pay good money for a handmade piece." It kind of annoys me.

However, I broke that rule when I started the baby blanket because the baby apparently does not want to wait. Yesterday, my friend emailed me with "Would someone please tell my offspring that he is to stay in the womb and his attempts to escape by moving into my chest will not prevail?" Oh, yeah, he's getting impatient. So, I need to work on the blanket whenever possible.

This morning, however, brain still muddled by sleep, I thought I needed a break. What I actually needed was a brick to the head.

Around lunch time, I came down with a serious case of Phantom Project Syndrome. I may have mentioned it before. It usually follows when you fight the Urge where you must have a project, any project, and you would take out a bus of nuns to get to a yarn store. When you fight the Urge, you get Phantom Project Syndrome where you swear you already have a project, but it's not actually there. Well, it also happens whenever you have a project and know you really, really need to work on it but you, for whatever insane reason, choose not to.

I kept looking under my desk for the bag the blanket was living in. It wasn't there. I kept reaching down to reach into such bag. It wasn't there. During lunch, I kept having to stop myself from crocheting empty air. The blanket just wasn't there. It was like trying to scratch an itch five feet above my head. Torture.

I don't know why I do this to myself. I know that I'm going to regret it whenever I need a "break" from whatever project I'm working on, be it crochet, paper mache, embroidery, or whatever. I always end up swearing that leaving a perfectly good project at home so I can play solitaire during lunch is "treachery that must be punished with assorted torture implements or a really angry cat" and that I'll "never do it again."

Yeah, well, who am I kidding?

I would like to take this moment to point out, because it's kind of fitting, that I have lofty goals for Christmas. I'm thinking lapghans for everyone. EVERYONE.

I sense lots of days that I need a "break" coming on. I sense spending a lot of time at my desk banging my head on said desk because I can't stand the Phantom Project Syndrome. I sense that I'll swear I'll "never do it again..."

Oh, yeah. I'm screwed.

A few months ago, my boyfriend, Todd, moved in with me. He brought with him a cute little grey cat named Silvara. This worried me. Not because I dislike cats but because I have three of my own. The boys, Tabster and Merlin, are okay, but my little black and white kitty, Cala, can be...well...a thug.

She's small, cute, sweet, and total lap fungus, but bring another female into the house and she's suddenly a menace to society. It's a total change in personality. She's turned from ball o' fluff to ball o' terror. I'm starting to wonder if maybe she needs to be medicated.

Silvara has been living upstairs since they moved in mostly because she's trying to get used to things, which is taking time; however, slowly but surely she's adapting. She doesn't like leaving the upstairs so much, though. The downstairs is a little too weird for her. It doesn't help that this small black and white fury likes to ambush her on a regular basis.

Earlier on, Cala would run in here (the computer room) and corner the poor thing and a massive hiss-spit-yowl fest would ensue. We'd have to come up here bearing water bottles and loud voices to break it up. This happened for many days. After so many squirts, Cala has gotten the hint that attack Silvara is a Bad Thing.

So, she stopped, and, for a while, things were quiet.

We knew something must be up because it was too quiet.

See, we understand that this is a power play. This is a female who was the queen of the house and suddenly there's this...other female...in her house. This is a situation that obviously requires a personal touch. This is serious. This is war.

Having consulted with her generals (my socks she keeps stealing, we presume), Cala has switched tactics. Now, she has opted for the kamikaze option.

Even with us in here, she'll make these quick suicide runs where she'll attack Silvara in a loud and vicious way then run the hell away. Being small, quick, and agile, she finds spots we can't readily locate in which to hide and congratulate herself on her latest victory. We figure she will continue this way until she wears Silvara down or until we give all she demands, whatever those are (although I know she's been eyeing the tub of catnip rather seriously.)

For now, she has us on the defense until we can unravel her plans and strike back. She's a cunning one, this cat, but I surmise that some day we will prevail and there will be peace and harmony or at least a grudging acceptance of one's fate. Some day.



Whoever said cats were stupid was never guardian to one.

So, I've been ill...or not ill...or sort of ill...

The illness limbo has kept me on the couch for a couple of days. Even a lover of bad movies has to realize that eventually, that starts to suck. But, it's not without its rewards.

Behold the progress on the baby blanket!

That's a skein and a half added to it since last time I posted anything on it.

I know it's not all that exciting, but my friend did say she didn't want anything fancy; however, as you can tell from the fancy stripe, I will spruce it up, mostly in the edging. All will be revealed. Hopefully, it won't look like crap.

Making the baby blanket for the sake of making it for my best friend's first child is very exciting, but the blanket itself...isn't...which is my fault...but I'm hoping that the simplicity will end up with some sort of elegance once I add the spiffy stuff to it. Either way, to break up the monotony, I did a granny square.

I have all this yarn that's not enough to make a major project with but enough to do scraps and freeform stuff. I figure, I'll do granny squares when I get bored and eventually I'll have enough to do a blanket for charity or something. Makes me feel good and uses up yarn I can't find a use for. Everyone wins!

Because of illness boredom, I tried to do like the "bunny with a pancake on its head" thing with my cats, but they would not stand for a plastic leap frog on their heads. Sorry. You'll have to make do with granny squares.

And, in case you didn't see my response in comments, thank you Cindy, I feel much better now. Still don't wish I had to go to work, but I feel much better.

Okay, not that I have a lot of readers or anything, but I was wondering if I should change the name of the blog. I know "Crochet Cultist" kind of scares people, but it was the only thing I could think of when I wanted it to go live. I thought about "Hookin' for Love" but that just sound...um...wrong... "Crazy for Crochet" doesn't sound like me. I'm just wondering, should I change the name? I'm just curious. I mean, I would rather not scare people away, but you know, the current name does have kind of a ring to it, but I'm willing to sacrifice it if it means I don't scare fellow crocheters, knitters, and other crafters away. Any opinions?