Those Jeans

You know those jeans. The ones that live in the back of your closet or the bottom of a drawer. The ones that will fit you when you loose 5 pounds, and then will look so hot, that traffic sill stop, men will faint, your boss will give you a raise, and they discover how to make your favorite confection calorie-free. The jeans that will bring ecological harmony and world peace when you wear them.

Just 5 more pounds.

Well, I have a pair of these jeans. And I've dropped 15 pounds so these suckers should fit beautifully. What a load of horse pucky! If I loose any more weight, I will officially be pushing too slim and just be considered bony. So the jeans should fit right? When I bought them I was larger than I am now and they still don't fit, which makes me think.

I don't think I've actually ever worn these jeans. I think I looked at the size (which is one up from what I'm currently wearing), grabbed them and bought them, with out trying them on, because I needed a pair and was heading somewhere. I'm also beginning to think that they are junior sized. Because let's be honest here, I have no ass. Never had one, never will-it's genetics. My hips aren't overly broad either, and this is where these "jeans" don't fit.

I have come to the conclusion that short of shaving bone from my pelvis and hip joints, these will never fit me. Ever. And do you know what I almost did? Fold them up and put them back into the drawer. No, no, no!

So I stayed my hand and instead, started a pile. And the jeans led the way. Followed by turtlenecks (I really can't explain how horrific I look in those), cap sleeve shirts ( I already have the shoulders of a linebacker, do I really need to point that out?!), and every button down shirt and cardigan that I can't actually button.

I feel better already. And I'm going shopping for jeans this weekend to fill the gap in my wardrobe.

Spring is here!

Spring is here and it is official. Do you know how I know? I had to mow the lawn.

All up and down my street today, the residents in my fair little shire broke out the hats and sunscreen. Grabbed the keys to the shed, and dusted off ye ol' lawn mower. Across the realm could be heard the sweet buzzing of bees, the chirping of birdies and the whirl of mowers and trimmers. You could smell the fresh cut grass and almost taste the victory lemonade.

And then there was my house. The sounds of which should not be repeated. But I will confess to swearing in three different languages and would have added more had I known them. My mower would not start. After extensive kicking an cussing, and with the help of a nail file, I got it started, mowed the frippin' grass, locked the damn thing back in the shed until next week and headed in to take a shower and cool down and recompose.

Better, yes? Birdies are chirping again, the windows are open and the cat looks dreamily out at the aforementioned birdies. Ahh. Then I pick up my knitting.

On the needles I have : one lace stole, three 2nd socks, a tank top out of sock weight aptly named "frogged camisole", a tweed sweater 3 sizes too large, an albatross for my sister she will get when she's 80, and the beginning of another tank in 100% cotton, because I want to see if it works before wasting good yarn on the pattern.

If you are not a knitter, you may not understand the list. You might say something silly like, why so many projects? If you knit, you understand and groan in sympathy. All are time consuming pains in the a$$ that are currently ranking with the lawn mower.

My solution? Make lemonade, eat ice cram and ignore knitting until next weekend. Then put knitting and Mower in the "Rabbit Cage o Rage" and see which one comes out in the end. That or the garden which needs to be plowed eats them both.

Brilliant, yes?

Girls Scouts Live On!

Ah, the memories that can come crashing back when there is a proper trigger. Or in this case, total immersion.

I can now look back on being a girl scout with fond memories. I seem to have blocked out the revulsion I had at the time to the wonderful polyester uniforms purchased at the nearest JC Penny. Okay, not completely. I remember the tasseled socks, annoying sash, the troop goodie-tooshoos (Jill Lusher) who had all the badges, the mean rule mom (Gail Lusher) and trying to hide our "secret society" in high school. I remeber my friends and crafts and projects instead. And hey, who can forget the cookies? Ever?

Last night, I was treated to a flash back of epic proportions with the difference that I was THE adult and not one of the girls running around and giggling. I finally understand how my mother in her middle years felt and why she managed to have the most childish fun at every turn she could. While I would blush and get embarrassed, my mother would get us not only kicked out of Toys'R'Us, but banned as well. She was behaving the same as a child. In other words, she was HAVING FUN! Imagine that, an adult having fun. Simple, childish fun.

But I digress. Last night I had the honor of escorting a friends darling Duchess daughter to her Girl Scout meeting. And I so wanted to play too! And they got to play dress up! Movie Stars for the night. I can't say I was entirely an observer, as I went slightly overboard and brought various hats and such for the girls to wear for pictures. But alas, in the end I was the adult and did not get to dress up. But I did get some great photos. And let's face it, I have a whole closet I can play dress up with, the purpose being dress up. Some items from my mother, some that I have collected myself. Hopefully someday my own daughter will have a collection too. In the mean time:




And don't forget, Girl Scout Cookies loose their calories when put into ice cream!

Weekends of fruitfullness

Okay, it is Sunday. And I am taking it as a day of rest. Why is it when I spend a weekend with nothing planned on my agenda that I manage to keep busy, I feel like I have done nothing constructive and have been totally reclusive. And yet, when I have a full schedule set up for a weekend, I feel exhaustive, rushed and like I still haven't gotten anything done.

And when I have a weekend where things are scheduled I long for"A weekend at home where I can just knit and relax all day, sleep in and take naps so I'm restful." Work on the guitar or yoga.

I feel exhausted come Monday and I can never quite seem to get back to balance. I need to work on that.

And a cat is playing with my toes.

Lace: An evil no one tells you about!

Grandma's doilies, trendy tops, hair ties, and table clothes. All have lace. A beautiful airy fabric that can be thin enough to slide through a wedding band. Or, that's the goal and the true measure of knitting a lace stole.

Right! The true measure is going to be can I make the practice one with out having my family commit me. The test of character will come if I can bring myself to start the "real" one if I ever finish the test run.

So far, even the cat has not been seduced, enchanted, or developed even a remote interest in the tangled nest that is the 1st stole. I admit that my sub-conscience is leaving it out and vulnerable to see if she goes for it, (so I can blame her for the mess) she's not biting.

And yet, I can't yet put it down. Because in my mind, there has to be a way to make this simple and to make it make sense. I could breakdown and atom easier.

I love the fact that at this point in time, on of my knitting idols is working on a lace shawl. so in my mind, we are working as a team to create lace for the world. Hopefully she is having better luck than me.

Mending Bruised Hearts and Egos

Well, yet another possible boyfriend has been kicked to the curb. I did explain that I would not tolerate game playing. I also warned him that I'm smart enough to know that 2+2=4 not 8. The load of BS really was unbelievable. I surprised he thought anyone would buy it. When called on it he said "his life is complicated, you wouldn't understand." Well, unless you felt like telling me what was up, no, I could not possibly understand with no information. The fact that he couldn't/wouldn't speaks clearly if you ask me.

So my ego and heart were a little bruised. And my best friends came to the rescue. They swarmmed armed with 3 qts of Ben & Jerry's, a bunch of movies, and girl talk/ men bashing, chocolate and fiber. Who could ask for more wonderful friends?

Valentine's gifts at Knit Night, a "Yarn & Fiber Tasting" and tea and hugs. Encouragement, books lent, and patterns given.

So the guy didn't work out. There will be others, no doubt. But I am not alone, I have friends who care, understand and support. They share their stories, thoughts and fears. And best of all?

They totally get the fiber thing!

Love you girls.

Harry the Hank

It's a ...

Rat?!

Poop?!

Hairball?!

Nope! It's Harry the Hank! Da ta da ta!




Meet Harry the hank. My first attempt at spinning and then PLYING yarn. Plying yarn is trickier than it sounds. I'm going to have to work on that. I know it doesn't look like much, but heh, it's my first attempt. Harry is un-dyed and naturally processed. He is very eco-friendly and is made from local blue faced wool (type of sheep I think) and Alpaca (type of cuddley camel). It's impossible to show detail in picture, but harry is actually brown and grey plyed together.

Yes, I know he's small, but he is enough for a coffee cup cosy. However, think that Harry will be staying as a hank, simply because I'm so proud of him, and he is kind of cute. The cat also thinks he's cute, and that could be a problem. We'll see.