I totally cheated. I did. I’m a hack knitter, but I’m cool with that. I prefer think of myself as a MacGyver knitter, actually. I use the tools and methods that suit me best. While I haven’t had to resort to gum or paper clips, I did wantonly misuse a woven seam stitch. It was all Melanie’s idea!

See, I was adding the button and neck bands to my little lovely. (my little color-changing lovely, if these pictures are to be believed. It’s amazing the difference a flash makes. I think the close-ups below are a more accurate representation, but I’m not even sure because the color is so different between my home PC and my work laptop. Hell, maybe the sweater is actually a deep shade of aubergine.)

I had to pick up stitches to add them. No problem, I can do that. I even had the great and powerful Disembodied Voice of Knitting to guide me. Kids’ stuff, cakewalk, pish tosh, easy peasy. T’weren’t nuthin’.

Uuuuhhhh . . . until I got to the decreased section of the neck. I just kind of kept on doing what I was doing and ended up with some holes. Well, let’s call it additional texture. Or maybe unintentional lacework. Or cotton/acrylic heartache. Whichever you please.

So I showed it to Jon and he was just plum out of ideas on how to fix it. I may as well have asked the hamster, I think I would have gotten the same hollow stare in response. I gave him a treat and looked for help from a more interested party. The coffee table had nothing for me either.

So I took it with me to Melanie’s on Friday night. I figured she’d have some practical advice considering she actually assembles her sweaters when she’s done knitting them. And of course, she did. She suggested I cover the unsightly holes using the woven seam stitch that I was using to sew the sweater together. Brilliant! So I did the weaving thing. It’s similar to the Mattress stitch, but it ends up imitating a row of stitches. You weave the needle under the “V”s of each stitch, alternating from one piece to the other for each stitch. It looks a lot like this. I couldn’t find the exact method online, it changes depending on whether you’re seaming row-to-row or stitch-to-stitch or stitch-to-row. I got it from Nancie Wiseman’s Finishing Techniques . This is the second sweater I’ve seamed using this book and it’s not too bad. The seams are a little thick inside the sweater, but I don’t think it’ll bee too lumpy. I need way more practice.

So whaddaya think? I’m pretty happy with it. I’m not a perfectionist, so I don’t mind a little wonk in my handmade stuff.

Melanie also hooked me up to her spinning wheel under the careful watch of her husband. (He told me when I needed to move the yarn down the spool. He’s adorable AND helpful!) I spun up some truly craptacular yarn. It was lumpy and fuzzy in some places and microscopically thin in others. But I can see how, once you get your groove on, spinning can be addictive. I just don’t think I’m ready for one yet. I can’t stop imagining a cat’s arm getting snapped off in the whirling wheel. I guess they’d learn after losing a couple, right?

And speaking of dismembered animals, we had a BBQ yesterday! Mmmmmmm . . . dismembered animalssss . . .

We fried a 16lb turkey in less than an hour! It was crispy, moist and de-freaking-licious. If you’re a vegetarian, look away. If not, feast your eyes on this tasty bastard. It looks burnt, but that’s just the savory, crunchy shell. Like a big meat M&M.

And here are Dot and Mike enjoying their share of the catch. For some reason, Chi-Chi and Chloe didn’t want any. Perhaps they were waiting for the leftover steak. Well, they’d have to fight Charlene’s stack of cats for that. Good luck to ¢â‚¬Ëœem.

And speaking of Chi-Chi.

Lately he’s been making tons of noise in the middle of the night. You know that incessant meowing that gets louder and more frenzied as it goes? meow. Meow. Meow. MEOW! MEOWMEOWMEOW!!! It sounds like he’s stuck in a closet or fighting ninjas or something. So the other night, Jon got up to see if everything was ok. He found Chi-Chi sitting there, staring at this.

The Sparkle Ball. It’s his favorite toy, and yet it makes him scream. Since then, we’ve both seen him yowling with the ball actually in his mouth. Ummmm. What the hell? Does he like it? Hate it? Does it scare him? Please him to no end? Does it tickle? Does he think it’s a creature? Is it covered in LSD? What?!

Oh! By the way, thanks for all the commiserating on what is now dubbed “The Plaster Disaster”. Carlos and I slaved for 4 days and we finished . . . wait for it . . . 4 rooms! Gah. Only 8 rooms to go. We’ll probably get back to it later this week. I am happy to report that the Red Heart was used in a number of ways. We attached metal fittings to it to add weight and used it as a plumb line to go straight into the wall. This helped to get from one hole to another a few times. I also used it to tie the cats into the living room so they’d be out of the way. The door doesn’t shut properly, so the yarn was their captor. (Don’t worry, they had all the air conditioning while we lowly humans sweated buckets.) In the end, I’ll be delighted we rewired, but I’m still allowed to grouse about it while the house is in dusty pieces.

Looky! It’s practically a sweater! A Scoop du Jour, to be exact. Once it’s dry, I need to add the button bands and a neck band. I’m really looking forward to picking out buttons. It’s a fun, simple knit and if I like it as much as I think I will I’m going too make one in black. The color in this picture isn’t very accurate. It’s a much lighter, prettier green. Now that I look at it, this Khaki-ish color isn’t bad. Maybe I need another one. After the black one.

See that empty tomato pin cushion? That little guy was fully studded when I started. Word to the wise, get more that 100 pins. I thought I was overdoing it with the 100-pack, but I ran out after the second sleeve. More. Pins.

I also finally got around to felting my purple bag and flower. Here’s a look into the briny deep of the Maytag Ocean. It looks like ethereal sea creatures playing in the Great Agitator Reef, doesn’t it?

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They didn’t felt as much as I had hoped, but I still really like them. The rose wasn’t made for the bag, but I think it’s kind of cute on there. I was planning on making a whole bunch of flowers and now that I see it felted, I have a few ideas about what to do with them.

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We at Chez Stitchy are also in the midst of a full-blown electrical drama. Those of you who own an old house can commiserate with me on this one. Crumbly is a word that should be used to describe the topping on a coffee cake or ancient ruins in Greece. It should not be an appropriate descriptor of electrical wiring. And yet, at our house, it is a sad and scary fact that our “vintage” knob and tube wiring is crumbling quicker that me at a good sale on mohair. No good can come of it.

On Friday, our house decided that it didn’t want to have electricity in the front rooms any more. It mumbled something about air conditioners, then just gave up on Thomas Edison’s wacky idea. Luckily, we have an electrician named Carlos that we love. He works with my brother, who is a carpenter, on a lot of different projects. Carlos is very reasonably priced. The reason is that when he’s working on your house, you are automatically deputized as his assistant. If he needs something, you get it. Whether it’s from the kitchen, the basement, or Home Depot, you’re getting it. He was installing a new circuit breaker panel thingy (I’ve learned a lot of technical terms since Saturday) and needed something to hold some wires up so they wouldn’t fall back into the wall. “Do you have any string or anything?” he asked. Jon paused thoughtfully, trying to think of something string-like in our house. He was stumped. Dude, string is what we have the MOST of! I immediately ran and fetched the Red Heart. Jon doubted that it would be what he needed, but he underestimated the power of acrylic. It was just what the electrician ordered.

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Here is a close-up of the Red Heart hard at work. I hope my yarn doesn’t try to unionize, I can’t afford healthcare for alpaca.

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At one point, Carlos got into the crawlspace between our ceiling and the roof. It was a million degrees and I can’t believe he got in. I also can’t believe he got out. Watching him extricate himself backwards and searching with his feet for the rickety wooden ladder was too much to bear. It was like our ceiling was having a breech birth. Luckily, we moved on to Plan B right away.

Here’s a peek at the space. You can see the old knob and tube wiring in the back. Not a whole lot of room. I couldn’t stop imagining Carlos passing out from the heat and us trying to drag him out.

I’m glad we switched to Plan B because it went pretty well. It involved snaking a line through the ceiling from the front of the house to the back about 50 feet, I think. Here’s Jon pulling the line back with the electrical wire attached. It was quite a feat. He was making all kinds of “working hard” faces, but kept turning away when I tried to take a picture.

Here are Jon’s thoughts about the day of hard work done in a meduim of plaster and laminate tabletop.

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At the end of the day, the yarn’s work was done.

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‚ But our was not. Not nearly. We are nowhere near even remotely finished. We’re basically rewiring the entire apartment (10 rooms if you include the porch, which I totally forgot to include yesterday). This is a huge effort. A major home renovation that we embarked on with a day’s notice and not much of a choice. It’s either this or no power in half the house and a blazing fire in the other from all the extension cords. It would be overwhelming if I would allow myself to fathom it, but so far, I just look at it as a little quality time with Carlos. But really, it entails about 8 holes in the walls and ceiling of each room (sometimes more if the snake can’t get through). I refuse to multiply the number of rooms by the average number of holes. I’m just not doing it. Carlos is coming back on Monday, Jon will be at work, so we can’t tag-team our assistant responsibilities. It’s all me. And I know it won’t be done on Monday. What have we gotten ourselves into? But I guess that’s the life you choose when you own an old home full of charm and original detail, like disintegrating cloth-covered wires. (I like to pretend that we own the house, even though I know it’s the other way around.)

Here is a sample of our new holes. Pretty, huh? Now image a house made mostly of these things. And the plaster pouring out of each one.

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Oh my freakin’ head.

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Wow. Thanks you all so much for the kind (and often hilarious) comments in response to my last posting. I knew it would strike a cord and I knew lots of women have had similar experiences and I had a feeling I’d get reports on the personal preferences of your own fibroids. But still, I’m amazed and touched. It took me a few days to decide whether to post about the miscarriage and the twittering fibroids, but after seeking counsel with Melanie, I went for it. I’m glad I did. I’ve experienced something that is so common, yet rarely discussed and even if we react differently, there’s a measure of understanding that is very comforting. It’s almost unspoken. Beneath the warm wishes and commiseration, there’s a small sigh that carries with it a lot of different emotions. It’s hard to describe, but I’ve never felt more like a woman. I usually think of myself as a “gal” or a “chick”, but a miscarriage is purely a woman’s issue. And dealing with fibroids and fertility has forced me to confront the essence of my womanhood. I know that sounds really Lifetime Networky (quick, someone call Meredith Baxter Birney stat!), but reproduction is a big, fat deal. Whether you choose to have kids or not, whether you are able to have them or not, it’s all part of the whole feminine mystique, isn’t it? Fan-friggin-tastic. Bring it on!

And just a quick update, I had the D&C almost two weeks ago and everything went very smoothly. It was quick and painless, and the drugs were top quality. I felt so refreshed when I woke up, then they covered me with heated blankets and brought me buttered cinnamon raisin toast. It was the closest I’ve even been to being at a spa. The only thing they could have done to improve conditions would have been to offer me a pedicure and some lipo while I was under. I will now be free of sharp, pokey things until August. And then, no more Bagel Bites for YOU, fibies!

I’ve gotten waaaay out of the habit of blogging and I need to get myself back in. I keep thinking of things to write about and I have a backlog of things that need to be photographed, but I’ve lost those little holes I used to carve out in my day for blogging. I’ll get the chisel.

On the kitting front, I’m working steadily on Scoop du Jour by Bonne Marie Burns. Speaking of whom, it has come to my attention that I’ve been adding an “i” to her name to make her a “Bonnie Marie”. But her name is pronounced “bon”, like “Jon” but with a “B”. I could swear that I’ve seen the “i” in her name. Naturally, I assumed she was gaslighting me and changed her first name everywhere on her website. You know, just to mess with me. She swears this is not the case. THEN, I find out that ChicKnits is pronounced “sheek knits”, all frenchy-like. I’ve been calling it “Chick Knits”. What, I ask you, the hell? Why am I not able to comprehend the language over at Bonne’s place? (Do you know how hard it was to leave that “i” out? Do you?)

But anyway, I’m loving the sweater so far. I’ve got the back and left front piece finished. I’m using TLC Cotton Plus in Kiwi green. The pattern calls for Cotton Ease, but since it’s discontinued, I didn’t think I’d be able to get any. Since then, I got enough Cotton Ease for two more sweaters. Oops. They’re definitely different yarns. The Cotton Plus has more sheen, but it’s very soft, I also had to go up one needle size to get gague. I’ll be photographing it soon to show it off.

I have to say that the Scoop du Jour is just what I needed on my needles. I’ve been stuck on the idea of doing something lacey, but I just haven’t been able to concentrate and have become really frustrated. I’ve got three failed lacey things put aside for when my brain is in better working condition. But now the fog has lifted, my obsession has been rekindled and I’m cranking away! I have also come to terms with the fact that I just don’t like wearing wool. Wool blends are ok, but mostly, I wear cotton and cotton blends. This has come as a huge relief because cotton is a lot cheaper and now I’m really excited about making things I will actually wear for not that much money. Yay, me! Don’t get me wrong, I still love me some alpaca and wool, but I like them more for hats and scarves and shawls. I wear a shawl at work all the time, and I like that I can toss it on and off with ease. I was working on the Flower Basket shawl in Koigu, but got all messed up with the chart. Hopefully, after some success with a couple of sweaters, I’ll have my bearings back and will finish that up in the fall.

Finally, here is something I think you will like.

DO NOT CLICK THIS LINK unless you:

– Have swallowed your coffee/soda/tea
– Have recently evacuated your bladder
– Don’t care if the guy in the next cube hears you snort with laughter
– Have a score to settle with your cat

You have been warned.

Wesley Buckaroo

‚ 

Wow. Thanks you all so much for the kind (and often hilarious) comments in response to my last posting. I knew it would strike a cord and I knew lots of women have had similar experiences and I had a feeling I’d get reports on the personal preferences of your own fibroids. But still, I’m amazed and touched. It took me a few days to decide whether to post about the miscarriage and the twittering fibroids, but after seeking counsel with Melanie, I went for it. I’m glad I did. I’ve experienced something that is so common, yet rarely discussed and even if we react differently, there’s a measure of understanding that is very comforting. It’s almost unspoken. Beneath the warm wishes and commiseration, there’s a small sigh that carries with it a lot of different emotions. It’s hard to describe, but I’ve never felt more like a woman. I usually think of myself as a “gal” or a “chick”, but a miscarriage is purely a woman’s issue. And dealing with fibroids and fertility has forced me to confront the essence of my womanhood. I know that sounds really Lifetime Networky (quick, someone call Meredith Baxter Birney stat!), but reproduction is a big, fat deal. Whether you choose to have kids or not, whether you are able to have them or not, it’s all part of the whole feminine mystique, isn’t it? Fan-friggin-tastic. Bring it on!

And just a quick update, I had the D&C almost two weeks ago and everything went very smoothly. It was quick and painless, and the drugs were top quality. I felt so refreshed when I woke up, then they covered me with heated blankets and brought me buttered cinnamon raisin toast. It was the closest I’ve even been to being at a spa. The only thing they could have done to improve conditions would have been to offer me a pedicure and some lipo while I was under. I will now be free of sharp, pokey things until August. And then, no more Bagel Bites for YOU, fibies!

I’ve gotten waaaay out of the habit of blogging and I need to get myself back in. I keep thinking of things to write about and I have a backlog of things that need to be photographed, but I’ve lost those little holes I used to carve out in my day for blogging. I’ll get the chisel.

On the kitting front, I’m working steadily on Scoop du Jour by Bonne Marie Burns. Speaking of whom, it has come to my attention that I’ve been adding an “i” to her name to make her a “Bonnie Marie”. But her name is pronounced “bon”, like “Jon” but with a “B”. I could swear that I’ve seen the “i” in her name. Naturally, I assumed she was gaslighting me and changed her first name everywhere on her website. You know, just to mess with me. She swears this is not the case. THEN, I find out that ChicKnits is pronounced “sheek knits”, all frenchy-like. I’ve been calling it “Chick Knits”. What, I ask you, the hell? Why am I not able to comprehend the language over at Bonne’s place? (Do you know how hard it was to leave that “i” out? Do you?)

But anyway, I’m loving the sweater so far. I’ve got the back and left front piece finished. I’m using TLC Cotton Plus in Kiwi green. The pattern calls for Cotton Ease, but since it’s discontinued, I didn’t think I’d be able to get any. Since then, I got enough Cotton Ease for two more sweaters. Oops. They’re definitely different yarns. The Cotton Plus has more sheen, but it’s very soft, I also had to go up one needle size to get gague. I’ll be photographing it soon to show it off.

I have to say that the Scoop du Jour is just what I needed on my needles. I’ve been stuck on the idea of doing something lacey, but I just haven’t been able to concentrate and have become really frustrated. I’ve got three failed lacey things put aside for when my brain is in better working condition. But now the fog has lifted, my obsession has been rekindled and I’m cranking away! I have also come to terms with the fact that I just don’t like wearing wool. Wool blends are ok, but mostly, I wear cotton and cotton blends. This has come as a huge relief because cotton is a lot cheaper and now I’m really excited about making things I will actually wear for not that much money. Yay, me! Don’t get me wrong, I still love me some alpaca and wool, but I like them more for hats and scarves and shawls. I wear a shawl at work all the time, and I like that I can toss it on and off with ease. I was working on the Flower Basket shawl in Koigu, but got all messed up with the chart. Hopefully, after some success with a couple of sweaters, I’ll have my bearings back and will finish that up in the fall.

Finally, here is something I think you will like.

DO NOT CLICK THIS LINK unless you:

– Have swallowed your coffee/soda/tea
– Have recently evacuated your bladder
– Don’t care if the guy in the next cube hears you snort with laughter
– Have a score to settle with your cat

You have been warned.

Wesley Buckaroo

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(TMI = Too Much Information)

So, as many of you have apparently noticed, I’ve been really slacking off in the blogging department lately. And I must say, I’m flattered so many of you thought I had catapulted right off the planet. I would love to see the missing persons report for Stitchy McYarnpants. If such a thing were to be required, please don’t settle for my last know photo, take some time and pick something where I look cute and thin and happy. Like this. Or this. C’mon, I’d do it for you. Do not, under any circumstances, allow my brother to make authorities use his favorite photo of me. The one where my eyes are rolling back into my head and there are strings of saucy spaghetti dangling out of my mouth. And no, you will get not link to that little gem.

Anyway, I’m going to do my best to explain why I’ve been flying under the radar. It’s not as though I feel I owe anyone an explanation (or a long list of excuses), but some things just sort of ask to be written about. Have blog, will journal. Know what I mean? I usually keep my personal life pretty personal. That’s mainly because my personal life is largely uninteresting. And while not as fascinating as being involved in a freaky, Oprah-couch-stomping, ass-of-oneself-making, squirmy love-fest with Tom Cruise, or wrestling a bunch of lions with just my bare hands and some Cambodian midgets, the past couple of months have been vaguely interesting.

See, it all started when Jon knocked me up sometime in April. After peeing on many a stick (can I say that I love peeing on those home pregnancy test sticks? It’s like I’m my own little chemistry set!), I had the blood test and yada yada, I was good and pregnant. Normally, this would either make someone very happy or very sad. All I could think was “Terrific, here we go again.” I guess my initial reaction was one of mild annoyance. This was my third pregnancy since last Christmas. The first two disappeared as quickly and stealthily as they’d shown up. Ninja pregnancies. They never implanted and were considered “chemical pregnancies” because they could only be detected chemically. By peeing on things. It turns about that approximately 50% of first pregnancies end this way, and most people don’t even realize they were ever pregnant. But if you’re trying to conceive, and you have the penchant for peeing on sticks, and you just can’t wait for anything ever, you can find out before your period is even due! Bad idea!

This time around, the little bugger stuck and Jon and I were pleased as punch, but we remained cautiously optimistic. Throughout the month of May, I felt like crap, just like a woman in my delicate condition should. Tired and nauseous and cranky with headaches and boobaches. Oprah made me weepy, Dr. Phil filled me with more rage than usual. It was the whole kit and caboodle. It was delightfully awful. The due date was to be January 8th, so obviously a lot of knitting would be required. This poor kid was going to be covered in piles of superwash wool. But I felt too crappy to even knit. Now THAT’S crappy.

We were all set to tell the parental units on Father’s Day. We were even allowing ourselves to get a little excited. Just a little.

Unfortnately, I discovered last week that I had a miscarriage. A missed miscarriage, to be exact. That means it stopped growing, there is no heartbeat, but the tissue is still hanging around in there and I’m still having mild symptoms. Neat! I was even starting to show a little. Part of what I was showing was a lack of self control, I’ll admit it. Bagel Bites, as it turns out, are the perfect food. I couldn’t help myself, I’m not made of stone! But it wasn’t all snack related, I was looking like I had the beginnings of a little bun in the oven. Well, as it turns out, my oven is stuffed full of fibroids (benign lumps of tissue, pretty common with women in their 30’s). Enough that they were actually pooching out! So I wasn’t eating for two, I was eating for 12. Or however many of them there are. The ultrasound technician stopped trying to count them. She seemed really impressed with my fibroid-making abilities. We all have our talents, people.

As it turns out, the first two pregnancies probably tried to implant, but ran headlong into a lumpy mass and got nowhere. This one managed to implant, but with all the extra delicious hormones, the fibies grew lightening quick, decreasing the blood supply to the lining of the uterus. Of course, this is all speculation, but it seems perfectly reasonable. All in all, I’m just not a very hospitable environment. In fact, I’d say I’m downright hostile in there. Well, not totally, I mean, the fibies are flourishing. But the joke’s on them. I’m not putting one cent towards their college tuition.

So I’m giving it another week for the tissue to pass on it’s own, because frankly, the fewer procedures (i.e. sharp, pokey things) I have in my nethers, the better. If it doesn’t do it’s own thing, I’ll have a D&C next week. Once this is all cleared up, I have to get the fibroids removed (more sharp, pokey things). That should be happening round about August. And in my own silly fashion, I’ve gone and anthropomorphized them already. I have a bad habit of doing that. Have you seen that awful Mentos commercial with the baby chicks tweeting in unison for a refreshing mint? Yeah, well, in my mind, that’s what they look like. All the fibroids are nestled together, chirping incessantly, forcing me to keep eating Bagel Bites. On the plus side, they like Sangria, too.

So, in some way, I feel betrayed by my body. Especially the pooching out part. Can you stand it?! Mother nature is a tricky bitch sometimes. But I know it’s all fairly common and easily (albeit unpleasantly) remedied. I felt a lot better after talking to the doctor because it all seems so logical. If my arm were to fall off, I’d be fine as long as someone had a solid medical explanation for it. And I feel confident in my ability to get pregnant seeing as how I’ve done it three times since December. Jon has good aim and determined boys. So I just need to get through the next couple of months of endless appointments and pokey things, and then we can get back to trying. That’s the fun part.

Jon and I really are feeling ok about the whole thing, we have amazing friends and family around us to lend support. Everyone who knows has been kind and respectful. We’re not dramatic people and these situations are often so awkward, but it’s such a common occurrence that to hush it up seems like ignoring an elephant in the room. It’s just one of those crazy things that happens sometimes. Whaddaya gonna do? And Charlene, I must say, is the uber friend. She has gone with me to most of my appointments, even the ultrasounds. She actually seemed to enjoy visiting the moonscape that is the inside of my uterus. AND, she blew her diet to go out for ice cream with me after the last appointment (and the one before that). That goes above and beyond a ride to the airport, and I wholly appreciate it.

All in all, when everything gets weighed out, I’m still a very lucky girl.