knit and tonic

No Picture Necessary

I just used that new Veet hair remover, the one you can use in a shower. On the commercial, there's this long-legged gal frockling here and there and let's just say, if you're anything like me, one view of that commercial, and you'll buy into the scene, hook, line and sinker.

So I sat there tonight, on the couch. I sat there and saw the commercial again and remembered I bought some and ran upstairs thinking about this Sunday, Mother's Day, and how we'll be roller skating around Dooze's "outdoor roller rink" (it's really a giant painted parking area in front of her house with a big boom box sitting nearby) and how cute I'll be with pig tails and shorts and really smooth legs.

Newsflash: If you read the label carefully like I did, you'll read how you shouldn't go out in the sun for at least 24 hours or more after you apply the stuff. Worse, you can't reapply it within 72 hours, much less slather on some self-tanner any time soon.

And now that I'm out of the shower and I'm realizing it only worked in spots, truth be told, I'll have bearded legs by the time I can actually go out on the "rink" with my new roller skates, pig tails and shorts.

Such is the life of a 40-something wannabe roller derby queen.

I guess things could be worse. I suppose I could be that gal on that one divorce court show whose fake tooth flew out on national TV. Even worse, I suppose I could be sitting in the tub with a green mint mask on my face and musing about whether or not it's better to collect stamps, or coins.

"Productive Knitting" Oxymoron? Anyone?

My friend, who could probably be your friend by now based on the number of times I've mentioned her, the one whose cousin plays guitar with his toes and who has a knack for the malapropism, when I called her today for a break in what has been a three-day knit fest (one word: deadline) she said, "Oh! You must have ESPN! I was just thinking about you and boom, the phone rings and it's you!"

Well, she got me thinking about what I was hoping this week would be: a week full of Productive Knitting.

Now, that, my friends is word misuse if I ever heard one: Productive Knitting. Sure, it's a bit more subtle than her remark about ESPN or the remark an old colleague made to HWWV when he walked into the office with a new suit ("I love your entourage!"), but Productive Knitting is about as crazy-weird when the two words are put together and just about as good as any decent malapropism should be, maybe even better. But I'm a knitter.

Sheesh. Knitting these days, at least for me, is about as slow going as ever. And I'm not sure if it is because I have been interrupted constantly (The Bunny throws up a hairball, the dogs fight over it. Girlfriend spills a liter of apple juice, then stands there crying while I try to finish a row. Girlfriend continues to cry while I try to finish another row. I think I see someone running through my backyard in the reflection of my reading glasses. It's a prowler! It's a coyote! No, it's that wad of tissue I keep meaning to pick up off the grass! And then I hear a crash coming from inside the freezer. Seems one of the shelves has collapsed under the weight of all my Lean Cuisine's.)

Oh, and guess what? There aren't any activity points attributed to Knitting in the online Weight Watchers activity list. I checked. If only those people over at Weight Watchers had any idea.

The good news is, at least my neighbors very likely think I'm having a week of Productive Knitting, what with all the closed windows and such. They know, in the same way I know what they are doing too--the Italian Restaurant Neighbor just got a huge LCD panel even though he's never at home--that when I sneak out to the mailbox wearing pajamas and no makeup or bra along with that very old T-shirt from Hallmark with a picture of Maxine splashed on it and the words: "I had a tummy tuck this morning. I tucked it in my pantyhose," that some really great and super productive things are happening under our roof. You know: Productive Knitting.

If only they knew.

Mother's Day

Proof I don't get out enough: We go to the local civic center to watch Girlfriend do a couple dances with her troop and we escape across the street while the adolescents and cheerleaders do their gigs and we're sitting there at this upscale-ish steak joint and upon hearing the music overhead I say, "Oh, they have good taste! They're playing Elvis Costello!"

"It's not Elvis Costello, love, it's that guy over there in the corner, the one playing the piano." (HWWV)

So then, I say, "but he sounds just like him!"

A few minutes pass and we're enjoying the tunes, and next thing I know, the performer whips out a bugle and starts playing it with his mouth and his left hand, and continues the piano with is right hand.

But the wine was uber expensive and the steaks . . . let's just say that the guys sitting at the bar with us, all of them wearing way more jewelry than I would ever, had their fill. I wonder where they put it all. I swear, the guy next to me got a steak that would feed my family plus my brother, my sister and probably my mom, too if she were here.

Which reminds me, when mom said she'd make dinner for all of us, she'd buy the smallest steak and maybe two potatoes and call it a feast. When she lived with us while she was going through chemo and radiation she said she'd shop for us and come home with an onion, a potato and a bottle of wine.

She had a problem with quantities. We were always hungry. When we were kids, if we drank a quart of apple juice in a week's time, she'd wonder what was wrong with us, why did we drink so much juice?

And that is how it all was. Forever and ever, that is how it all was. And I didn't like her very much. I didn't like her but she was nice to me. She made me things. She made me spangled eye patches to wear to match my dresses and I was always angry because she'd use double-sided tape and smush it all against my eye. She put drops in my eyes that hurt and she made stinky cooked carrots that she burnt on the stove top and we'd throw them up onto the ceiling and they'd stick there. When they fell down, she never mentioned it. She never mentioned the fact that we'd throw our overcooked hamburgers out into the field across the street while she wasn't looking, either.

I met someone the other day who said she didn't speak to her mother anymore, or at least she didn't speak to her but once a month to try to make contact. It made me feel guilty.

My heart would break if Girlfriend decided that she hated me. I love her. My mom loved me. I know it now, after all these years how much, and as much as I want to go back through the years and hoist her back from wherever she is now and scream "I LOVE you, I DO!" the only thing I can remember about her right now is the last time we spoke. I was sick and my voice was gone. I was sitting in the car in a Target parking lot and I called her. She said hello and I said mom I wanted to say hello I hope you are okay today, and she said I don't know who you are. Who is this? and hung up.

I sat there weeping in my car, and then my phone rang. It was her sister. She said, "Wendy, your mom remembered you just now. She wants to talk to you."

"I will never forget you" is what my mom said.

And that was the last thing I ever heard her say.

BTW: I'm in a crocheting mood. I wish I was in the mood to finish projects. This particular one is a knotted poncho (yes, a poncho) from a Rowan Magazine a couple years back. I'll have to go and check the edition and get back to you on it. I will say that I screwed up on it a few times before I realized that it was knit from the bottom up. Oy. I'm such a top-down thinker.

Trying to Laugh it Off

It is hard to find nice looking reading glasses, you know, the ones that don't necessarily make you look like you are blind as a bat or ones that magnify your eyes to the size of melons. Usually, the reading glasses I find at the drugstore give me that middle-aged look, not that being middle aged is bad, or that cross-dressing is bad, or that someone who puts pink rinse on their gray hair rather than the usual blue is bad, either. It's just that I need to hang on to whatever thread of youth I have, and wearing reading glasses on the stationary bike at the gym sort of smacks of being middle aged, especially when they keep slipping off the tip of your nose when you are trying to read your large print best-seller novel.

Speaking of the cross-dressing reference, I thought that I wouldn't mention it, but I'm listening to Ru Paul's music at the moment and I just have to say that I went to the gym at my not-usual time. I didn't run into the interesting guy who always eats Hawaiian food out of a container whilst circling the cardio area, and I wish I did--just to mention it in passing and good old fashioned reverie. Instead, I happened upon the guy with the french manicure. He was walking out and I noticed he was wearing his gym shorts, a cute top, and sensible black heels. So, I quickly searched my gym bag for a few seconds, and coming up with nothing, I grabbed my Blackberry and texted HWWV. I wrote:

"I was just thinking that guys who cross dress normally don't have very good taste in shoes."

And he wrote: "Let me guess . . . You don't have your little memo pad with you today."

Then I wrote: "You're right; but I just had to say, that guy who does the female impersonator stuff just left the gym with a guy outfit and heels."

And he wrote: "Oh yeah; I've seen him. He does have bad taste in shoes. But he sure has a mean hair-do, even after a gnarly spinning session. I know this."

It is good to have someone in your life who understands you.

Back to the new glasses. The good news is, I finally found some reading glasses that I really like at Target for only a buck in the dollar bin. (Score!) I actually managed to wear them all day without losing them or sitting on them and I even chit-chatted with a nice and cute checker at the Whole Foods Market for a few minutes. You know, all in all, I could say I had a five-star day.

The thing is, I managed to wear these new specs the entire day without anyone pointing out that the sticker that said +2.00D was still on one of the lenses, and this sticker was stuck over my good eye, to boot.

BTW: I'm working up a pattern using the Damask, and I'm thinking a cute cardi, something you could throw on over a tank or even a bathing suit in a pinch. I'm sort of stuck right now, though because it is a lot like linen and other natural fibers and I want to put something lacy at the bottom, not necessarily lace, but something airy and I'm sort of not quite at the crossroads with the idea, if you know what I mean.

But at Least I can Pedal

It's hard not to feel sorry for yourself when you are sitting outside of the yoga joint, watching Girlfriend through the window doing her practice without you. It's hard because the hip, well, it ain't so good and all one can do without making things worse is the stationary bike or the elliptical trainer. And who likes those things? Especially when those are the only two choices. I mean, let me tell you, the stationary bike sure loses its zing when that is the only thing one can do.

So here I am, sitting in the tearoom at Yogaworks, the best yoga gig in town. HWWV is inside there taking pictures of all the kids doing their yoga and I'm typing this. I feel like I'm complaining, and I guess I am.

And I know someone will say, "but you have it good, I've had a hip replacement and I can barely walk." And then a next person will say, "barely walk? Barely walk? It would be a dream to barely walk! I can barely crawl." And then the next person will say, "hah! That'll be the day when I finally crawl again! Most of the time I just lay there."

"Yeah, but I have to lay under a volcano! One that always erupts! Right on my face!

"Volcano? You're lucky! A volcano! Just think of the beautiful sight of an erupting volcano! I have to lay on the asphalt and one of those asphalt rollers rolls over me day after day! I'm absolutely smushed!"

And so on and so on and so on and so on.

Now that I have that off my chest, I just bought 10 balls Rowan Damask and I think I shall make some sort of cover up for the beach/pool/yoga outfit (since I'm only a poser these days). I've started to write down the pattern and we'll see how it goes. The yarn is just beautiful. It looks even better when near a nice cocktail. But we all know that knitting and drinking don't go together, right? [Hah!] Which, reminds me of a funny story my friend Scout told me the other day. She told me she was talking to a close knitting friend and I guess he had a few beers. Anyway, he was knitting away and realized that he made a mistake and had to rip back a ton of his work.

And then, after he finished ripping, he discovered that he hadn't made a mistake after all, that he ripped back for nothing. That's what you get when drinking while knitting.

Off to drink and knit.

Preventive Swatching

Most days, I'll be sitting in the LYS, and if I am there for more than, say, 10 minutes straight and paying attention to the conversation, invariably two subjects will be discussed even for just a second. The first one is aches and pains or whoever is sick, has been sick, feeling like getting sick, or managed to miss the latest breakout of the flu, the runs, or chickenpox or who has a suspicious rash. The second subject is swatching.

Usually, the swatching conversation is carefully sprinkled throughout whatever other conversation is going on. It's a subtext, the elephant in the room, the one question that begs to be asked and answered whenever someone's project goes awry, doesn't fit, or doesn't turn out like the one in the picture.

(Whenever someone asks my favorite LYS gal: "Do I need to make a swatch?" She always answers: "Only if you want it to fit.")

So, yesterday, when I walked into the LYS a couple of the gals were actively ripping a garment. The first thing that popped out of my mouth: "Did you . . . "? and after a couple of glares in my general direction, she said she did but the thing stretched as she knit it. Then I said, but did you make a big enough "one" so you could see if it stretched before you cast on? (No answer.)

Now that is the kicker, isn't it? To make a swatch large enough to see how it behaves when washed, hung, or shaken? To see how it acts when it is steamed? To see if it shrinks? To see if it drapes, bags, or sags? Trust me; I know how it feels to really want to cast on a new project, but having been burned too many times to name, I make a swatch pretty much no matter what, except for when I make socks.

I guess swatching, even though it's difficult to make yourself do it, pays off in the end. Plus, there are multiple uses for swatches if you hang onto them. Just think of all the wonderful things you could use them for.

No Sense of Urgency Here

Don't you hate it when you buy some new yarn with all sorts of sugarplums dancing in your head whispering to you about how glorious it will all be, how that scarf will make you look once you finish it in an absolute flash, how that market bag will feel in your hands all stuffed with the stuff you should stuff in a market bag, especially since the yarn probably must be totally organic and all, why else would you make a market bag out of it? I mean, you wouldn't be making a market bag out of the stuff that probably must be organic unless you're going to be greener than any of your next door neighbors (or at least look greener).

If you ever get around to knitting it, that is.

So that's where I am today. At least in my head. Remembering how I felt when I bought this stuff. Remembering what I planned on making with it. Remembering  all the emotions I was sure I'd feel when the projects were finished.  Beating myself up for never getting around to starting the projects. Beating myself up for not even winding the yarn yet. Beating myself up for beating myself up for all the projects I wanted to make but never got around to.

Now I'm wishing I could knit with my toes. Wow, that is really stupid. Who'd want to knit with their toes? Especially since the person in question has perfectly good fingers. Perfectly good fingers that haven't knit a stitch in days. Perfectly good fingers that haven't knit a stitch in days and that haven't even touched the new yarn except to take a picture of it.

Time to shut up.

BTW: Here's a picture we took at the studios last week. From left to right: Shay Pendray, Me, Eunny Jang, and Kim Werker. Lot's of fun and a really great group of people.

On Travel and Hamburgers

There's something about getting out of town that is ever so slightly cooling or heating, and whichever way it goes, there is something healing about it.

Anyway. When I was sitting and waiting in the Green Room for the Knitting Daily TV show (taped in Oh-Hi-Oh!--See your PBS listings for the first show in July) with a group of gals who I can only say probably get out a heck of a lot much more than I do and are much more composed than I am, when I got called by the make-up artist so she could give me a look-over for the shoot, turns out, she had to re-do my make up from square one because the age spots were showing and, anyway, the eyebrows were a little thin and did I know that I could use a bit of brown powder under the jowls to make them disappear?

I told her, "yes, I know that the brown powder is supposed to work because, after all, I try the trick everyday to no avail and that the thinness of my eyebrows is something beyond my control since I have been in the habit of plucking out every white one that pops up."

"Well, that explains it," she remarked. "You'll have to start tinting them unless you want to be bald in a year or two. I'm thinking you can do the job whenever you tint your hair; you know, just dab some of the tint you use for your hair onto your eyebrows."

Then I said, "The thing is, my drapes don't match my valences." (Or, should it be: My valences don't match my drapes? or, The shades don't match the valences? . . . )

I suppose things could be worse.

We got home safe and sound, to honks and horns and birds flipped here and there on the freeway. Boy, what a difference. And can I just say that I won't be ordering hamburgers here anymore? I'm convinced all my talk about the great burgers in Cleveland has stunted whatever progress I've made on the establishments west of Ohio. Take a look at what they tried to serve us on the plane over Albuquerque.

To think I was a vegetarian for over 10 years until I got over it. Now I'm wondering if I should re-consider the deal.

On knitting news: If you are ever in the Cleveland-near-Avon area, visit Birds of a Feather. This is a wonderful shop. (They actually have nesting birds in the eaves of their barn [not that they'd be happy to hear this].) I absolutely loved visiting. The setting is amazing, and if you happen to quilt, too, the entire downstairs is devoted to quilt fabrics and I tell you what, it all makes me think of my grandma Helen and how she's about 94 these days and doesn't remember me or recognize me anymore (she's the one who taught me to knit and has lost her sight.) The second-to-last conversation I had with her was about how she wished she could knit again. The last conversation I had with her was about how much she missed her daughter--my mom--and how hard it is to be nearly blind. If only I could take her to a place like this so she could feel all of the fibers and see all the colors again.

BTW: If you are in the Cleveland area, I would also suggest you see some of the many cemeteries. They are abundant and you just might see a burial or two from the Civil War era. Amazing and dashing and sad and morbid and wonderful all at the same time. Girlfriend, when I told her about it all, said that she didn't want to get out of the car. I asked her why, and she said she didn't want to step on dead people.

Ohio

Ha. This morning we were the last ones to go downstairs and get breakfast. This afternoon, we were the first ones downstairs for free cocktails. Thing is, we read the sign wrong and we arrived one full hour early. Ohio.

I like Ohio. Well, I don't know if I really, really like it yet because I've only been here 20 hours, but there are things I've already noticed about Ohio that I think I like. First thing I noticed is, even the real old guys help you put your luggage on the bus. They smile at you, too. Second, road rage, at least on the few freeways we've encountered, doesn't seem to exist. At home, at three in the morning someone will show you the bird if they knew you could see them. Third, no one seems to be in that much of a hurry. In the beginning, we got to thinking the service was just bad. Then, we realized that the whole pace of the place is slower than Los Angeles, and that is something I could get used to.

But the very best thing I have discovered about Ohio so far is that you can order a hamburger medium rare, if you like. In Los Angeles, they have laws against such things. I mean, you could kill yourself eating a medium rare hamburger. And gosh knows, they wouldn't want you to sue them after you kill yourself eating a medium rare hamburger.  They'd much rather you sue them after you choke to death on a hamburger with the texture of a hockey puck, instead.

I managed to knit almost half of two socks. I love this new Regia Cotton Color. It is softer than the last iteration and the colors are amazing.

BTW: After tomorrow, I'll have a half-day to check out some yarn shops.

When it's Sad to Say Goodbye (Put the phone down already)

I woke up this morning feeling lousy. HWWV says it's stress but I think it is because the weather changed drastically. It's windy and hot, nearly 90 degrees, and sometimes when the weather suddenly turns I get really achy and flu-like and can't manage to even walk up the stairs. So that is how it is today, or that is how it was today, until I got an email from a reader who told me about a woman who was in her step class at the gym and took a number of phone calls while huffing and puffing and waving the one hand to the music while holding the phone to her head with the other. You gotta love that sort of thing or you gotta hate that sort of thing because I honestly can't stand it when people use their cell phones during times they shouldn't. I mean, the other day, a friend and I ate lunch at a bar in a restaurant and a woman sat directly across from me, ordered their finest Chardonnay, and proceeded to talk on the phone for more than an hour, eyes glazed but fixed directly on me, never wavering.

Yeah, and in Los Angeles, June will mark the month when a new cell-phone law comes into effect that states you can't talk on the cell phone while driving the car unless it is hands free. And you know what that means, for the months of June, July and August, car accidents will rise due to people frantically searching for their little earphones or fumbling while trying to plug the suckers in, and worse, those dorky Blue Tooth devices will be worn more than ever in public and in restaurants, making all of us non-Blue Tooth lovers wonder if, as these things rise again in popularity, a similar rise in delegate attendance at Star Trek conventions all over L.A. will be documented.

So, tomorrow I'm off to Cleveland--I'll be missing Rocko, that's for sure. I decided I will bring two pair of socks to work on (am packing some lovely Crystal Palace bamboo double points along just in case those nasty agents steal my circs), some orange cotton, a crochet hook and a pattern for boxer shorts. Yeah, I know, it's nuts, but at least I'm not crocheting a bra. (Hey: have you ever used those GoKnit Pouches??? Fab for travel. I also got some of those Pattern Tamers. I can't wait to put them to good use!)

BTW: Good news. I have worked out a deal with a distributor to make my patterns available to yarn stores, so that means they will be available soon in a nice hard copy format. I'm starting off with three Spring type patterns, Sizzle, Flair and Fad-Classic. As these are reformatted, I will reformat the patterns available on my site at the same time to update their look, etc. See the right hand sidebar for more information and a link to the distributor, Deep South Fibers.

Don't Tell Anyone About the Secret Life of Circs

With all the talk on forums and such about what sort of implements you can take on a plane for knitting or other pursuits, you'd think I'd actually go and check to see if metal circular needles would pass security. Thing is, instead, I could not decide which yarn to bring. I mean, really, one must have at least a few projects to choose from when they travel. Why limit? Why? (I think I will limit my choice to two types of yarn.)

But, after finally checking the TSA about what type of items you can actually bring onto an aircraft without being shushed or taken aside for a frisk, I realized, that you can, in fact, or at least they say this online, take knitting needles onto a plane. I will say, however; they were very specific in mentioning that one cannot take a sword on board.

I mentioned this to HWWV the other day in the car, on our way to a fancy lunch out (Chili's--they give out crayons and don't go crazy when Girlfriend spills her Shirley Temple all over the joint) and he said, "So, what do you think one can actually do with knitting needles, anyway, especially the circulars? Threaten to knit the pilot's hair so tight their eyes pop out? Or maybe force them to try and jump rope with them while the onlookers jeer?"

And so, I said: "Ever hear of a garrote?"

Oops. I guess I shouldn't have said that. Wouldn't want to give any crazy-terrorist knitters any ideas (or the TSA for that matter just in case they might ban the circs).

But here is my real dilemma: I'm off to Ohio to do a couple segments for the show, Knitting Daily TV, and I'll have five hours of knitting time, give or take, each way (except for the sipping of the vino out of little plastic bottles). What yarn do I take with? Some of it? Only one skein of it? All of it?

And a little confession: When I read other peoples' blogs and they say the same type of thing, like "Oh noooo! I just don't know what yarn(s) to take with me!" Usually, I huff and puff and scoff a little bit and declare they're a bit silly but now, upon reflection, I'm realizing I just don't get out much.

Next question: Are there any good yarn shops in the Cleveland area?

BTW: My chiropractor, last Friday, gave me the go-ahead to do a few minutes of cardio each day since my back and hip are improving. So what do I do in response? Buy a foot-long tuna sandwich with extra cheese.