tweedy jacket in progress

I need to finish this jacket in three days. I need to ship it and the pattern to the magazine before my Resident Artist and I leave on Thursday for a show. I can't even compare knitting this jacket with that first magazine sweater. I've discovered that it wasn't the deadline or the knitting-for-hire aspect that killed the joy for me on the first one. Rather, it was the cotton yarn. This (ah, wool!) is Plymouth Tweed which is so satisfying to knit. With its mossy, felted texture, I can knit with my eyes shut--but I don't want to because of the happy little jewel-like flecks and nubs. O Tweed, how I love thee!

Today is my Middle Child's birthday. What does he want for his birthday? He wants to go camping. He's much more of an adventurer than we usually think. I don't want to crush that outdorsy spirit in him, but it snowed here less than a week ago. Brrrr. That's all I have to say.

And finally, in case anyone wondered:



Huh. If a person's self-esteem were too tied up in whether they feel smart or not, this would be a little bit of a downer. Junior High? Fortunately for me, my self-esteem is securely grounded in whether or not my kids have clean socks each day.

I can't wrap this up until I've bragged a little bit about my children. They gave me a splendid Mother's Day. Boberly made breakfast (served to me in bed!), lunch, AND dinner. And dessert. Pancakesbaconeggsorangejuice, turkeysandwiches, roastedchickenmashedpotatoesgreensalad, and strawberry shortcake. She marshalled the other kids and they did all the clean-up. I took a 4-hour nap after lunch and it was an AWESOME day.

What? There's a lady in a gold lame body suit with shoulder-to-floor white fringe along her back and a romantic ringleted bouffant 'do on the TV telling PeeWee to jump up and do a dance with "glitter hands" and "razzle-dazzle". I've clearly been sitting at this computer too long. Where did the Backyardigans go? Now there's a guy playing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" with hand-farts. ?!?!?!? This kind of reminds me of a music professor at Utah State who used to entertain his Music 101 students by playing the classics on his nose-flute. Bizarro.

no harlot sightings here, just mini-burgers

I did not go to Salt Lake City yesterday. That endlessly clever knitter Stephanie Pearl-McPhee (a.k.a. The Yarn Harlot) had a tour stop at the SLC Downtown Library promoting this delightful little book. I was going to go. Prairie Mama Kim and I had it all planned. Saturday night arrived and Kim called, exhausted from a day of selling at a craft boutique (and the lady is gestating, you know) and begged off. Even still, I planned to drive South by myself and enjoy the solitude of the drive, followed by the connection with knitters at the library. Early Sunday morning, I looked across PeeWee's head toward my Resident Artist and decided that I like him better than the Yarn Harlot. So I didn't go. I don't see him much on weekdays--or even Saturdays--and Sunday is really our only day.

After church, we made mini-burgers that were served with leftovers from a veggie plate I had made for my sister-in-law's baby shower. Little slices of cherry tomato, baby pickle chips, tiny green onion rings. I usually back away from the presentation of precious food to my children; I just don't have time for that sort of thing, yada yada. But maybe I don't have to be so serious all the time? Yeah.

It's a beautiful Monday morning. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, PeeWee is sleeping, I am blogging. I will type quickly and then lace up my shoes for a walk. The little darling will probably awaken before I finish this paragraph. Thre is a lone hyacith in view through my patio door. I have a formerly-magnificent rock garden in my back yard. When we moved in to this house 12 years ago, the previous owner's daily tending of the garden was evident in the riotous spring display of daffodils, hyaciths, tulips, basket-of-gold allysum, bergenia (which has the entertaining common name "pig squeak"), candytuft, and moss phlox. It was beautiful. Now, the intervening years of neglect have left us with bindweed, crabgrass and a lone pink hyacinth. Oh, and I see one daffodil.

I have grand plans this year. I'm getting more sleep on a regular basis than I have since Before Children, so I'm going to reclaim the rock garden! (Or at least a portion thereof.) It stretches the entire width of my back yard, and I'm going to start with the part that is visible through my living room window...if one is facing due east...and not using any peripheral vision. Yes, and I'm going to plant a vegetable garden this year. I have often had a couple of tomato plants and some summer squash, but this is the year of the Potato. And the Carrot, and the Bean, and the Eggplant, and the Cucumber, and the Onion, and maybe even the Corn. And RASPBERRIES!

cloudy thoughts

MagKnits is gone. (MagKnits: formerly an online knitting magazine.) Gone. GONE. Poof, in the blink of a monitor, no more. Some designers didn't even have backup copies of their patterns and it's too late now.

I just finished reading The Solace of Leaving Early by Haven Kimmel. It has given me much to consider. Is leaving early cowardice or courage? Is it a good thing to leave before the second act, before the plot gets too messy, before things start to unravel? Is there really solace in that? Or is one cheating oneself (who says "oneself"?) by trying to avoid the sticky tangled consequences of the first act?

I stay up too late at night by myself. For the sake of a few hours of my own thoughts, I handicap the next day with inadequate rest. Is that my way of leaving early? Am I trying to give myself an excuse for not being fully present in the daytime? Is this pathological avoidance or laziness? Am I thinking too much about this? (Finally a question with a clear answer!) Yes. Go to bed.

But first, how about a picture to liven things up? Remember those Miranda Mitts from the last post? When I was experimenting with the mitered rib, the first yarn that I tried was a beautiful cream wool/silk/angora handspun. After I knit and ripped back 3 or 4 times, I decided that maybe angora wasn't the best fiber to experiment with--but here is a picture of it. Note the kiwi fruit. I was feeling poetic.



Tina, you said "Blog more" but this probably isn't what you had in mind.

we are only occasional vegetarians

moar funny pictures

Me-blogger-pal-Faith haz introduced me to the lolcats. Haz u seen dem?

That is my kid, I swear. (No, not really, but Joe would totally have done that when he was little if given the chance. He used to lick everything. He even licked a light post in the winter once--and we watch A Christmas Story every year, so it's not like he was surprised when his tongue stuck to the pole.)