My Terrible, Horrible, No-good, Very Bad Day

The day started innocently enough. After I'd had my coffee and read the newspaper, checked Facebook and played a game or two of Words with Friends, I decided to wind a hank of yarn into a cake. I'd had "nothing on my needles," as we knitters say, for a full 24 hours, and I was eager to launch a new project.

Side note: At left, above is a hank of yarn, but not the one featured in this story.

One cannot knit from a hank of yarn. If one tries, one finds oneself in a pickle. The yarn tangles mercilessly.

So I got out my yarn swift and my ball winder, and undid the ties on the hank of beautiful, hand-dyed  aqua "Caper Lace" yarn by String Theory, which happens to be made right here in Maine. I bought this yarn at the Maine Fiber Festival in 2014 and have been waiting to find JUST the right  project worthy of it.

I'd found the project: the September Circle cowl, by Melissa LaBarre. The pattern is beautiful and it has received rave reviews, so what could go wrong? Well, the following could go wrong:

1. I managed to screw up the yarn while carefully, I thought, placing it on the swift. I cranked the handle of the yarn winder a few times before the yarn started pulling, refusing to be wound, and tangling. I stopped the winding, untangled the yarn, and resumed winding. This went on for quite a few seconds: wind, stop, untangle, wind. Finally I realized things were getting worse, not better, so I removed the hank of precious String Theory Caper Lace yarn, $29 a hank, by the way, from the winder and decided to wind it into a ball by hand.

Five hours later (yes, five hours. The hank contains 575 YARDS of lace-weight yarn, and the hank was now a mess of tangled spaghetti on my sofa. If this had been a skein of, say Red Heart yarn, I would have tossed it into the trash and bought a new skein the next time I went to AC Moore. But this was no skein of ordinary yarn; it was a skein, as I might have mentioned already, of precious String Theory yarn, purchased not simply at the Maine Fiber Festival, but at the festival I attended with my dear friend Margaret, a fellow knitter who was visiting me from England. This skein cost $29, which I might have mentioned already,  and it had much sentimental value.

So I meticulously untangled the yarn for five solid hours. As 1:30 p.m. loomed and I'd done nothing but untangle a mess of lace-weight yarn most of the day, I told myself I'd work just until 2:00, and if I hadn't finished untangling the mess, I'd call it quits for the day and try again another day. At 2:00, however, the end was in sight, so I forged onward and finally, FINALLY finished untangling the yarn at 2:30. It was now wound into a neat ball.

That evening, while watching the news, I felt my blood pressure had returned to relative normal and my nerves were relatively calm, so I would cast on for the September Circle cowl. I would cast on all 216 stitches, I told myself, and knit a row or two to get this project under way.

I selected a 24" size 7 circular needle, rejoiced when I discovered it was a Knitters' Pride cubics circular, and began casting on, using the long-tail cast-on method. With the long-tail cast-on, one works with only one end of the circular needle set. So I held the needle in my right hand and blissfully cast on. (This bit of information is crucial to your understanding what happened next):

2.  After I'd cast on oh, maybe 199 of the 216 stitches, I looked at the other end of the circular needle set and discovered, to my utter horror, the needle was missing. That's right, the needle had broken off. You can't knit with a set of circular needles if you have, sadly, a needle on one end and a missing needle on the other. (See photo at left.)


For some reason, however, I managed to remain optimistic. I hadn't shed a single tear.) Admittedly, I might have uttered a curse word or two or fifty, but I'd done it softly and, I'm sure, the neighbors were none the wiser.) I calmly slid my 199 stitches to a new set of 24" circulars, size 7, finished casting on the remaining stitches, and prepared to knit the first row.

All seemed to be well. I knit not only the first row, but the second, the third, the fourth. All was good.

Then I began to get suspicious. As I tried to straighten out the needles and cable to admire the pattern that was developing, I noticed the needles/cable were, uh, very reluctant, shall I say, to straighten out and form a nice, neat circle.

3. Then my worst fear was realized: I'd been happily knitting not a circular cowl, but a mobius strip.

I was tempted to leave it as is. After all, it's going to become (I continue to believe) a cowl, and cowls are wrapped and even twisted to lie attractively at the neck.

My better sense prevailed, though, and I raveled the entire 216 stitches X four rows = 864 stitches, put this yarn back onto the ball by hand, and once again cast on 216 stitches.

This time, though, I used a set of circular needles with a needle on each end and I checked not once, but at least four times, to make sure I didn't have another mobius strip in the making.

So that was my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. The cowl seems to be progressing nicely at this point, but I'm keeping my optimism in check.

Bring it!

The handmade swag is on the front door.

The "Let It Snow" sign hangs by the kitchen door.

The heathers are covered against the cold.

The deck furniture is stored in the basement.

And the firewood is in.



Ready for you, winter. Bring it!

It's about those socks

There's a chance I've been overdoing it in the hand knit socks department.

Exhibit A: The new, never-been-worn socks stored in a dresser in the guest room. I see eight pairs of socks there.

I'm currently wearing one pair of hand knit socks.

There are six pairs of hand knit socks in my dresser drawer.

There might be a pair or two hand knit socks in the clothes hamper.

Hmmmm. That makes fifteen pairs of hand knit socks, minimum, all in my size, 7 1/2.

What do I have on my needles at the moment? Why, socks, of course! (Exhibit B, to the left)

This is a sock yarn I purchased in Victoria, BC, in September, and I've been eager to try it out. It's Opal, a German yarn, and it does knit up beautifully.

But I digress. What am I doing with all of these socks???

I like to have a sock project underway between other knitting projects, and also socks are the best project for travel knitting as far as I'm concerned.

But still, fifteen pairs of socks? And I wear them only fall-to-spring, not in the summer.

I'd guess I have enough unused pairs of new socks on hand to last me the rest of my life. After all, I turned 70 earlier this week.

On a more upbeat note, two of my orchid plants have sent up flower spikes! See them in the photo below? The spikes are held in place with pink butterfly clips.

I'm quite excited about this. If the orchids bloom in a few weeks, I should have orchid blossoms that last until spring. Stay tuned for photos of orchids in bloom1

Friday drive

Last Friday Ken and I took a drive to my hometown in central/western Maine: North Anson.

Along the way we stopped at the Wire Bridge in New Portland.

We hadn't visited the Wire Bridge in years, not since my stepfather's death in 1981. My mother had lived in North New Portland while married to my stepfather. He loved the wire bridge and made sure his stepchildren admired it during visits with him and my mother.

After my stepfather died, my mother moved back to North Anson. That pretty much ended our visits to the Wire Bridge.

 The bridge is a unique bridge, in that it is a suspension bridge, one of four built in Maine in the 1860's. It's now the only one still standing,...and still usable.

 It's probably the only bridge of its type in the entire U.S.

 On Friday Ken and I walked across it, viewing it from all angles.

Ken pointed out, just as we started the walk, that the bridge sways. That's the nature of a suspension bridge.

We also drove across it in order to continue our journey to North Anson.

We both enjoyed seeing the old bridge again. It's still a beauty, despite its 150+ years.

Izzy dolls (I think I'm addicted)

I came across the Izzy Doll pattern while looking on the internet for a simple, knitted doll to make for the Operation Christmas Child shoebox.

Now it seems I can't stop making them.

If you can knit a simple rectangle, changing the yarn color every few rows, then you can make Izzy dolls.

But if you crochet, there's a pattern for crocheted Izzies, too.

It's fun to try making each doll unique. Some have braids, some have pony tails, some have simple hats.

The little "brother" was knitted with size 5 needles, using garter stitch throughout.

The bigger siblings were knitted with size 6 needles, and I used stocking stitch throughout. I like the stocking stitch better.

Once the rectangle is completed, a seam is sewn up the back, the head is stuff and cinched, then the arms are defined and, finally, the legs are defined.

Easy peasy.

My little family of Izzy dolls has grown to six as of this morning. I plan to make one or two more, then I really must call it quits. There's other Christmas knitting to be done!

Lobster sandwich, anyone?

Last Friday was the annual Lobster Box Lunch fundraiser, sponsored by Alpha Delta Kappa, Maine Beta Chapter.

A∆K is an organization for teachers and retired teachers; our main purpose, other than being supportive of our fellow teachers, is to help various groups through altruistic programs. We give scholarships to aspiring teachers, donate to the Red Cross, pack shoeboxes for Operation Christmas Child, donate money to our local food bank, etc.

I'm the designated "Lobster-getter" for the Lobster Box Lunch, so last Thursday I drove to Portland, turned onto Portland Pier, and drove to the end. I'd contacted New Meadows Lobster days earlier to place our order.

As you can see, it was a stunningly beautiful day to be on the Portland waterfront.

In the distance here you can see DiMillo's Floating Restaurant. The restaurant was once a ferry in Norfolk, VA. It's been a restaurant in Portland for at least twenty-five or thirty years now. Ken and I have had many fine seafood dinners at DiMillo's.








And here's New Meadows Lobster. I phone the company several days in advance to place my order. This year I ordered 76 pounds of fresh lobster meat, knuckles and claws only.

The two-pound packages, packed in styrofoam coolers and surrounded by lots of ice, are sealed and ready for me when I arrive. I'm nervous driving back home, because I'm carrying around $2400 worth of lobster meat in the trunk of my car. There it sits, safe and sound, until 6:00 the next morning.

...at which time I deliver the meat to our box -lunch-preparation headquarters. There, many of my fellow A∆K members and I (about fifteen of us), madly assemble the sandwiches.

Each of us has a specific duty:

1. Unpack the meat, open the two-pound bags, add a little mayonnaise, or
2. Assemble and wrap the sandwiches, or
3. Pack each box with a sandwich, a homemade brownie, and a bag of potato chips, or
4. Check the order forms and  place the correct number of pre-ordered lunches into boxes and bags for delivery.

Here's one of our lobster sandwiches. As you can see, we don't skimp when we fill the buns.

So we work non-stop from 6:00 to 7:30 a.m., not even taking time for a cup of coffee. By 7:30 we're done and doing clean-up detail.

We're a well-oiled machine. This year we packed 380 lunches.

The best part, for our customers, is that these lunches cost only $10.

How to babysit your houseplants

Usually when Ken and I are away from home for more than a few days, our friend Lynn looks after my houseplants.

On our last trip a couple of weeks ago, though, I had a dilemma: Lynn would be on the trip with us.

I pondered this problem for several days. We'd asked a neighbor to check our house regularly, but I didn't feel right about asking him to water my plants. Besides, I was afraid he'd prove to be an under-waterer or an over-waterer.

A couple of days before we were to leave, I googled "care for houseplants while away," and I came across this suggestion.

I didn't know if it would work, but I decided it was worth a try.

The day before we left, I filled jars with water and set them above the level of the plant pots. Then I cut lengths of cotton clothesline, placed one end into the soil of each pot and the other end into the jar of water.

Early the next morning, before we headed to the airport, I checked the set-up and could see no indication that the cotton clothesline was even slightly damp.

That worried me. Maybe this system wouldn't work and I'd come home to dead plants.

But it did work! As you can see from the water level in these two bottom photos, the cotton clothesline did, indeed, provide a means for the soil in the plant pots to stay slightly moist.

My houseplants were happy. I was, too.

It's quick, it's simple, and it works.