Yarn Ball Boogie

Round Two

I couldn't stay away. My spindle is one of those things that just screeches my name after a while if I'm neglectful. Despite "not wanting to spin for a while"....I'm finding it's really not in my control. Just what I need. Another addiction. Aren't REALLY GOOD movies written about this sort of thing???!! (And please don't remind me of that "knitting" movie supposedly coming out with Julia Roberts)

I was in the middle of organizing a bit, re-making friends with the parts of my stash that have been unlucky enough to be smashed into deep, dark holes. When I came across some roving that I had crocheted. Why? How should I know. But, I had one of those moments when you realize that your original plan is now loser to your current genius vision for something. Enter spindle. Someone help.

Ugly yarn

So I'm starting to realize that I grow resentful if something (fiber related) takes too long. Or takes a lot of time. More specifically, if something that I have taken the time to nurture, talk to, and encourage to be lovely when I'm done, ends up spawning thoughts of a bonfire instead of relaxing moments in a favorite chair creating worthy garments. I recently bought some roving at The Yarn Tree in Brooklyn. I was initially attracted to it because it reminded me of a cheetah. But imagine its spots being made by grape juice and bruises. I fell in love. Spotty. Contrasting. Stimulating. So, out came the spindle. I thought, this is the one. This will be the yarn that I can't live without. I'll call the person who dyed it and INSIST on her dying some more. Well, how else would I be able to finish my bruised, grape-juice stained sweater???!!! Dammit!

During the process of plying this "yarn", my hand became something other than a hand. See, either I've yet to figure out the correct way of Andean plying without making your hand turn into a pretzel and lose all circulation and cause boughts of dementia and pacing, or I just had too much going on. I had this moment where I really thought I would have to call 911 and have them hook me up to oxygen on a stretcher while my spindle bounced behind me all the way down Flushing Avenue to the hospital. I'm sure they've seen worse in the ER. I think that's what sparked my "taking too long" tangent. I thought to myself, "I'll never do THAT again". And as you can see, I ended up with little more than a sea of muddied purple. It's somewhere in the neighborhood of 120ish yards, merino, silk, angora. So, yes, it's incredibly soft. But ugly. Now what?

And then there's the nephew blanket. It's done, and since someone in a previous post said they couldn't wait to see the finished product, here it is. (I'm taking a chance that that person actually still reads this blog)

Will my nephew realize one day that this blanket only took 4 months of gestation and an additional 3 months of out-of-the-womb time to finish? Probably not. I'm fast-paced. I'm gratification-driven. I'm do-it-now. See the results. Move on. The days and months it takes for me to see something makes me anxious. Good grief.

So, in keeping with this anxiety-provoking craft of mine, I started this:

It's my sister's "dream sweater". So, that's how I'll refer to it over the coming months. I'm sure it'll be January 2018 when it's done. But, it's what she wanted for her 40th birthday. Which was in September. I'm learning a valuable lesson in all this, though. THERE'S NO NEED FOR PRESSURE-COOKED KNITTING. It's going to get done when it gets done. Pressure cookers make things happen quicker. Under pressure. Can't do it. Not any more. I realized that if I'm going to enjoy knitting/crocheting/spinning for the rest of my life, it can't cause an ulcer. Or six.

I actually had the desire to keep this blanket for myself. Hey, it took ...anyway. I just didn't think it would merge very well with my tastes in furniture, which can be, well.....

Added later:

The pattern (since a couple of you asked) is from Maddy Craft. My sister found it on their website, and it's called "Garden Paths".

Oh- and I really CAN type and use punctuation correctly. I adjusted the above paragraphs to reflect this. Egads.

I could SWEAR I'm forgetting something..

Oh yeah.  I forgot to get a picture of me and him TOGETHER.  Ugh. 

I'm back from the West.  And what a west.  Do you ever have so much anxiety about something that it literally consumes you?  I don't hide my emotions really well.  Actually, I broadcast them.  So, if I'm nervous, pissed, excited, whateverthefuck, people know it.  This might have something to do with the fact that I got all wrapped up in whateverthefuck was happening and forgot to snap my camera in Franklin's direction.  (sorry, Franklin)...

Onward, the Knitty Gritty thing went well, as usual; they're a very prepared and seasoned bunch.  Lorelei Plotczyk, my producer, was swell.  Swell?  Good grief. 

So all the pictures I DID happen to get were post-taping.  After my bowels (TMI) and my nerves had resumed to normal activity levels.  I felt like I had a lot more at stake this time around with the show.  The last season was like, well, "hey - this will be fun."  This season was like, well, "ummm...well, I THINK I can do this again".  It's a confidence thing.  But I had a great rental car, an awesome apartment my friend lent me the whole time I was there, and an Italian restaurant that made me all warm and fuzzy.  And I can now say something I have never dreamed of saying, but it's pretty cool nonetheless.  I HAVE OFFICIALLY DRIVEN IN LOS ANGELES TRAFFIC.  It's pretty legendary.  What they say is true.  All of it.  We didn't run into any major battles, partly because our timing was impeccable and Franklin was my personal directions bitch. 

Thanks go to Wendy for just being Wendy and the awesome time we had on the beach.

And the Vickie Howell moments (there are always many) - one of them being outside the set doors on the lot.  Cutie, she is.

After my segment was taped, I felt a nice breeze flow through me, but it took a little while to reach all my inner islands.  Once relaxed, Franklin and I took Easy Street over to Breath Easy Avenue and hung a right on Eat A Good Dinner Lane.

But almost THE highlight of my time in LA?  (besides all the aforementioned stuff)

While we were sipping our lemonade and eating the peanuts that Wendy had shoveled from the vat of never-ending protein, this seagull came up to a table next to us that had recently been vacated, but, lucky for the seagull, had plenty of condiments leftover.  Another slew of birds tried to make their way in and steal his meal.  The seagull politely did what you see in this amazing shot and moved to another table.  I guess seagulls LOVE their tartar sauce.