A dropped stitch

I'm too sexy for your feet.

Recently DH and I decided to make our annual migration south to GA. As is often the case the decision to make the trip came upon us suddenly (meaning we had talked about it in the abstract for weeks, and then we were both out of work at the same time, and the opportunity to escape NY was upon us).  In years passed, I have packed my spinning wheel, all the contents of the refridgerator, two dogs, all my knitting needles, all my WIP's, a couple pounds of fiber, three or four novels, and a 1/3 of my yarn stash.

This year, I settled on Gismo, my computer, three WIP's and one skein of sock yarn. 

As we approached the Georgia State line my favorite WIP was almost complete. 

They were the pair of socks I had started around Easter, that represented both the joy and despair I had felt in early spring in NYC.  I had used a lovely pink colorway.  The yarn was Araucania Ranco Multy. I had decided to use a grey for the cuff, the heel, and the toe, because "Hey that's spring in NYC."  The color of spring is there, but there is just enough grey to remind you it's not summer yet.

For over a year, I had hemmed and hawed about what I should do with this glorious yarn.  Funny thing about sock yarn, as much as we all love it, it so often can be debilitating.  We often only possess 400 or so yards of it.  400 yards? 

"Hmm?  It's too much for hat, not enough for a sweater, hmm, I guess you could be a shawl?  Socks, hmm I know your sock yarn, but REALLY am I suppose to put you on my feet?"

"Aren't you too lovely for that?"

I have often heard my other knitting sisters lament over this very subject, so I know it's a common problem, but I can't help but wonder how many of them lay in bed at night obsessing over what the yarn wants to be.  

"Are all knitters certifable, or is it just me?"

In January, when my season of sorrow, had moved it's way into an entire year of sadness, I had firmly decided that all of my sock yarn would be knitted up into the beekeeper's quilt.  I had reached for the Ranco Multy, more than a couple times during this period.  It was pink, I was sad, but even in my sadness, my inner knitter reached out for bright colors. 

By April, Gismo and I had gone on enough walks that my sadness had turned  if not into joy, at least a desire to leave the apartment from time to time.  He had reminded me that there was enough light and color on the gray days to move forward.

And I guess somewhere in there, I remembered that sock yarn might make up way too much of my stash to be entirely dedicated to the Beekeper's quilt.   

"Hmm, the yarn is pretty.  Is it too pretty for socks?  Hell, at this point, I have used a lot of it to make puffs.  Do I even want a blanket?  I hate knitted blankets.  Given how awful my night sweats are as of late, am I even going to use a knitted blanket? 

Socks..........

SOCKS

SOCKS!!!!!!!

I LOVE KNITTING SOCKS!"

Socks don't care what you weigh.  Socks don't care how much yarn you have in your stash. Socks don't have to be sexy.  Socks can just be, well you know, socks.  So I did what knitters before and after me will do, and have done, I just cast on.

And you know what happened? I became what I hadn't been in months.  I was once again a content and happy knitter. 

My cute little pink socks were probably over half way done when we made the decision to travel south.  My experience with the socks had given me the courage to once again pick up my breezy cardigan.  I had been cruising along on the cardigan for a couple weeks, and after months of sitting idle, I just finished the body and had started on the first sleeve when it made it's way into my travel bag.

The socks had even given me the confidence to cast on a lace shawl.  Honestly, I can't remember the last time I didn't have a lace shawl on the needles, but somewhere during the season of sorrow/ year of sadness, I had lost the courage to knit lace.  I'm not sure why.  I had knit lace throughout my treatment of cancer. I knit lace both times we had moved cross country. I even knit lace at my Godfather's death bed, but somehow when Frankie got sick, knitting lace no longer felt like an option.

Sometimes, the only option is to go back to the beginning.  After looking at a slew of lace knitting patterns, I decided to cast on a lace pattern from my knitting bucket list.  I remember the first time I saw the Adamas shawl.  I was in Macon, and one of my knitting pals and I had both decided to cast on another one Miriam Felton's patterns the Icarus shawl.  The Icarus was managable.  The Adamas was pretty, but "Wow, knitting an entire lace shawl!?"  Did anyone really do that?

I had knit the flower basket shawl, but that was in sports weight yarn and it was a shawlette.  I had knit the Flower Meadows shawl in lace weight yarn, but it was all in garter stitch. I remember looking at the chart and feeling nothing short of overwhelmed.  That was 2007, flash foward to 2012. I looked at the chart, and went, "Hmm, it's a 12 row repeat.  Knitting only on one side, no nupps, no beading. Simple increasing and decreaseing.  It's really only one chart until the border.  Shouldn't I try something more complicated?  Hmm, maybe not."

It's time to cast on.  And just like that, the curse had lifted and I was knitting lace again. 

Okay, but in the spirit of full disclosure, it wasn't like I traveled down south and all of a sudden I became a lace knitting, cardigan knitting fool.  I finished the sleeve, I finished a couple repeats of the shawl, but the project that got finished first was of course, the "almost summer" socks. 

In fact, they got finished within hours of us arriving down here.  I had planned for it.  I had printed a copy of another sock pattern.  The Blackrose socks.  They featured an eight row lace repeat panel in the front of the socks.  Not quite as mindless as the stockinette socks, but not quite as challenging as the lace shawl. 

I cast on, and worked about 10 rows. 

"Yikes.  OMG, the yarn is Saguine Gryphon skinny bugga.  What the hell is wrong with me?!  My friend Laura had waited in line at Rhinebeck over an hour for this stuff.  The yarn is waayyyyyyy tooooooooo SEXY for my feet.  It's black and magenta.  I am crazy to think that this yarn wants to be socks! What the hell is wrong with me!  Crap, I didn't pack spare needles or spare yarn.  I have some of that gray left over.  I could put my shawl on scrap yarn, and use those needles.  I could buy needles, I could buy more sock yarn.  God, I have way too much sock yarn at home, and buying needles is sooooo out of the question.  Maybe, I should surf ravelry and see what else this yarn wants to be?"

"Hmm, but who the hell says sock yarn can't be used for socks? Why can't super sexy sock yarn be used for super sexy socks?  I have pretty feet, maybe I deserve pretty socks? I like knitting socks, is there something wrong with that?  At the end of the day, am I really worried that I wasted a perfectly good skein of sock yarn on socks? "

"God, no!" 

Not only is there another perfectly good skein of sock yarn at the LYS, there is also another pretty good skein of sock yarn sitting in my stash. I have often said, that I don't knit for the outcome, for the potential of what the yarn can be.

"What if when I wear these socks, I go ice skating at Rockfellar Center slip on the ice, break my leg, and Dr. McSteamy has to cut of my skate and set my leg?
What if when I wear these socks I am completely naked except for my socks and the firefighter that rescues me notices my sexy socks and then notices my eyes?
What if I am at a local spin in, and Judith McKenzie shows up to make a guest appearance. Wouldn't I want to be sporting a pair of lace knit socks?
What if one of my ex-boyfriend from my punk rock days calls me out of the blue and once to get together?  At least if I have my Blackrose socks, I will have something to wear under my combat boots."

And of course there is something completely decadent about taking such a high end sock yarn, and allowing myself the luxury to just knit socks. 

The Support Spindle, because we could all use a little support.

Okay, I have to come clean.  I have become a support spindle junkie.  Over the last few months I have found myself stalking Etsy, and the Bristlecone Artfire site daily.  The Bristlecone site is especially amazing. Like most addictions, this one grew quickly.  Three months later I am on a first name basis with the designer, and I am admittedly a fangirl.

From the Bristlecone website:

My lampwork is made from Borosilicate glass which is heated to over 2000 degrees to allow the glass to become soft enough for shaping and color mixing. The shapes I make with glass are freehand 'off-mandrel', and I make certain that they are properly annealed.

Every single artisan heirloom made by Bristlecone, is absolutely one of a kind. When you by one of our tools, you are purchasing a unique piece of functioning art that you and *only* you will have. Literally, no two pieces are alike. Each piece of wood is turned by hand - no computerized machinery. Every bit of carving is by hand. All pyrography is by hand - no woodburning stamps or brands. All lampwork glass is made by my own hands - nothing looks alike. Each piece is truly individual and a treasure.

The pieces I craft are all made with power from the Rocky Mountain sun.

 I thinking it was around Christmas that I started really surfing the web and looking at support spindles.  When I found the Bristlecone site, I would spend hours drooling over the spindles.  I kept waiting for the shop owner to post new pictures on the website, and then I realized that just doesn’t happen, the sell out rate is too high.  So I emailed the store asking for a custom order, and I joined the mailing list and I joined the Ravelry group.  I have been waiting for my custom order for a little over a month, BUT on Easter the shop had a sale, and I walked away with Esther.  Isn’t she sweet?

Let me say that I barely walked away with her.  All the spindles on the sale went in 5 minutes and I kept hitting refresh in hopes of finding one that was still available.  I think Esther was one of the last to go, but “Whew, I am so glad I got her.”  I have been spinning on her every day since her arrival.  She’s dressed in some overdyed corriedale, Romney, along with some tencil, silk, cashmere, and Angelina thrown in for glitz.

This is a picture of my latest purchase.  She should be arriving on Tuesday.

SQUEE! I can't wait to dress her up in some nice cashmere.  OMG, maybe support spindles are just a grown up version of barbie dolls?

Okay, as usual I digress, back to the topic of support spinning. 

"Hah, there is only one way to say this!" One of the great things about support spinning is you can do it in bed.  Last year when I was going through treatment, I really couldn’t spin comfortably on either a wheel or a drop spindle.  I had purchased a couple support spindles, and over time I learned how to use them.

I started with the spindolyn  which is like support spinning with training wheels, and slowly I taught myself how to use a Russian spindle.

Here is the thing, support spindling is probably going to be the most challenging type of spinning a hand spinner learns because so much of it happens (if your right handed) with your left hand.  You have to learn how to long draw, but there are some cheats that can make learn how to spin on a support spindle easier:

1. Pre-drafting.  I finally figured out how to use the support spindle, when I spun up silk hankies.  You have to pre-draft them before you spin them.  Pre drafting your fiber when you support spindle makes the process a lot easier.
   
2.  Although, the left hand is doing most of the work, the right hand is still active.  One of the best videos I have scene that demonstrates how the right hand works is the one below posted by Fleegle.  See how right hand pinches the fiber when she goes to draft with the left?  She pre-drafts with the right before she drafts with the left. 
   
3. Also if you aren't getting enough twist into the fiber, pinch with your left hand, and then give the spindle another turn.  

 

What I love about my support spindle is it stays with my knitting bag, and when I get tired of knitting I just spin for a bit.  It's also great when you are out with friends, and you hit a part of the pattern where you need and want to count but it would be rude to.

Also I have noticed over the years I have noticed I am seasonal knitter.  My color choices are always affected by time of year, and weather. In the last two three or weeks we have had a lot of grey days, but when I walk Gismo I see big splashes of pinks, greens, oranges and blues. I love the contrast of the pink against the grey sky. I recently found myself completely dissatisfied with all of my U.F.O.’s.  Everything I was knitting was dark, lots of rich yummy burn reds, dark purples, and browns. How is summer ever going to come if I keep knitting with these colors?

I had promised myself I was not going to start another project, but then I realized that I was knitting a lot less than usual, and spinning a lot more, so I reached into my stash and pulled out a pink yarn, and cast on a pair of socks.

 

I really wasn’t think about a color palate.  I just knew I wanted spring. The other night at knitting, my friend Cameron commented on the fact I was both spinning and knitting in the same colorways.  I hadn't even noticed. It was then that I realized I was both knitting and spinning spring.

I really love that I can card out small batts based on my mood.  I also love that I don’t have to spin an entire sweater.  I can spin up enough for a hat, cowl or gloves.  I have already spun up 4 spindles worth of fiber, and I am still not sick of the fiber, the spindle or the color.  I am about halfway through this spindle project.  On a side note:  chopsticks are making great holders for my singles. 

It’s another grey New York morning, but it’s warm.  Captain Jack and Gismo are laying at my feet.  I am surrounded by pinks, and purples, sky blues, and greys.  All is right with the world. 

Welcome to Crazy Town, I will be your Tour Guide.

In my last entry, I told you all about how sick my dear dog Frankie has been.

Almost two weeks ago, I had to put him down. He was coughing non-stop and I knew he was in pain. This was after spending most of December and all of January sleeping out on the couch with him. Near the end, we were only getting 3-4 hours sleep at a time.   That was about how long his pain meds would last before he would start coughing again.  I went through all of “Buffy the Vampire” on Netflicks and most of “How I met your Mother.”  I also knit a lot of hexipuffs.  I am already up to 101.  It was a good project for me, it required very little brain power, but all the color changes kept me from completely losing my mind.

I’m not sure what I did the Wednesday after I put Frankie down, or for that matter Thursday.  I know I slept a lot.

By Friday, I was online looking at ads for little doggies. I should say right now, DH really didn’t want us to get another dog.  He is sick of walking them, but he was willing to bend if I would get a small dog, but he really wanted me to wait a bit. I told him that I would wait, but at that point I had already answered an ad on Craig's list, and  agreed to meet one owner in Park Slope on Saturday.

"Just me look at this one, if he's not right, I will wait a few weeks."

The ad said that they were getting rid of small, white Pomeranian and his name was Luca. The dog I met on Saturday was reddish blonde, 22 pounds, and then the people told me he was 2 years old. They also hit me up for a re-homing fee of $---. For some damn reason, I gave them $--- and took the oversized dog home with me. 

"Was it grief? Was it the bad vibe I got off them?  Was it hormones? Was it that my entire life I have never been able to wait for things?"  Maybe it was just a bad combination, but something inside me said, “You should take him, he needs you.”  At the very least, the people who brought him to me gave me the creeps, so I wanted to get him away from them.  "Crazy?"

"Yah, I know, but I have already admitted to that."

When I got him home his collar said Gismo on it. WTF?

Also DH was really annoyed when I got home, because the dog was so big, he wanted a small dog that would use wee-wee pads, not a big dog that would have to be walked. On Sunday, I ended up calling the number in Long Island, because as much as I liked the little guy I knew I couldn’t live with myself not knowing what his real history was.  I found out that I had been scammed. The people that brought me the dog, weren’t the actual owners, they had got him for free, and then placed an ad on Craig’s List asking for a re-homing fee. The dog was actually 6 years old, and the real owner, would take him back if I needed her to. They were getting rid of all their dogs, because the owner's mother-in-law had gotten sick.

At this time, I ALMOST thought about giving him back. I was feeling ICKY from being scammed, and DH was still pretty annoyed with me.  I was also feeling overwhelmed by everything that had gone on, and I had taken to spending time in the shower,  so that I could weep openly. "God, I love the shower."

Thankfully, I decided to check in with breast cancer group on Ravelry. I told them that "I wasn't sure I was going crazy or not, but I put my dog, down, adopted another dog and was crying all the time."

One of the women reminded me that sometimes tamixofen causes depression & mood swings, and that maybe should call my oncologist and try and take a break for awhile to see if that was contributing to my weepiness.    I was okay the first few months I took it, but the last several months I have felt like I was in a state of PMS all the time.  It also caused severe night sweats, hot flashes and heavy bloating.  Fun stuff!

More than one woman, told me that DH would mellow and that of course, I should keep Gismo.  It didn't matter how he got to me or how much I paid for him.  He was with me now. 

And of course, in a few days DH did mellow.  He knew that I had been scammed, and knowing my love for animals, I couldn’t help but be concerned for the dog’s welfare.  He also knew that between the BC, my surgery two weeks before, the hormones I was on, my recent weight gain, and losing my 2 dogs in less than a year, I was going a little crazy.  He also knew that for the most part, I tend to be a pretty sane, responsible person.  Or atleast, I think that's what he thinks!

Here are some pix of new boy:

 Doesn't he look so much like Frankie?  Except he weighs 22 pounds!  He's super sized!

The last week my hexipuff turn out has gone way down, and so has my tv watching.  Thankfully, I am sleeping again.  Gismo sleeps on the bed with us, just like my dear Beanie dog did before she got so old.  We have been inseperable, and park-bound most days.  Although my little guy is a little older, he just loves to get out there and walk. I can’t believe I have only had him for 9 days.  It feels like we have been together a lot longer. He’s such a good dog!

I have talked to Gismo’s orignal owner a couple times since I adopted him.  Her and both agree that although it stinks that we were scammed, at least Gismo landed in the right place.  

And well, I am thinking that my Dear Mr. Pom would approve, because that was the kind of dog he was.  "Goodbye, Dear Friend, I am going to miss you!"

 

I'll have what she's having

Okay, have you guys seen the Little Owls “Bekeper’s Quilt” video?   

  OMG!!

Okay, if you know me, or have read my blog, you know I am the first one to admit that I want to be swept away, and even when it comes to my project choices, I tend to go towards the romantic, and the good storyline.

I knit the Clapotis when I was living in Macon, GA.  We were renovating.  I remember working on the Clapotis while driving back and forth to Lowes with DH in his beat up pick-up truck. 

For those of you that may not remember Kate Gilbert’s fabulous pattern here’s is the opening paragraph:

French women are known for wearing scarves. Starting in September and until summer arrives, this is a most important accessory. The scarf may be striped or patterned, colorful, wrinkled and is much bigger than the scarves you probably have. Women just wrap the scarf around their neck in a "Je suis belle et ça ne demande aucun effort*" sort of way and off they go. 

Translation, I will knit this fabulous scarf, and I will move to Paris, drink wine and cappuccino, and have fantastic sex all the time. 

Although, we were both out of work at the time, I made the big splurge and bought the yarn that the project was originally knit with at the local yarn store.  The yarn cost around $29 a skein, and the project called for four skeins.  It was Lorna’s Lace “Lion and Lamb” and it was a silk merino combo.  It was like knitting with butter.

It made me happy, gloriously happy, and I wore my clapotis into the ground. For some darn reason, I didn't bring it to New York with me.  I left it in Macon, and sadly after many attempts to try and find it, it's become an LFO (Lost Finished Object). 

Other projects that I have been swept away by were the Ice Queen (which I knitted with the AC turned way up in July); the Lion Neck Cardigan (which I have yet to wear to the opera); and the Secret of the Stole (which has yet to reveal it's secret).

Currently, I am knitting the “Sothia.”  For the life of me, I am not even sure how I got roped in.  It’s a triangular striped ruffle shawl designed Robin Ulrich.  Here’s the thing, I don’t even like stripes, but after hearing Jasmine of the Knitmore Girls swoon over it, I found myself stalking the pattern, and late one night I found my fingers hitting the “Buy now” button. 

I mean really, didn’t I need a striped ruffled shawl, I mean seriously, “Doesn’t everyone?”  And to add insult to injury, my original plan was to use up my stash, but about a 1/3 of the way into it I realized I needed a more contrasty color combo, so I bought yarn to go with it.  And ofcourse the yarn was yarn I had fallen inlove with 9 months before when Anne Hanson showed me a sample of it in her class at Vogue Knitting Live.  “She told me that silver grey color way would look good on me.”

I am about 1/3 of the way through the project, and I can’t wait to finish my ruffled shawl so that I can wear it, like the pattern’s model does, frolicking through a field of flowers.

Okay, a little dose of reality here.  Or maybe not so much a dose of reality, as much as an explanation.  The last few weeks I have been on doggie death watch.  Frankie was hit about a month ago with a really bad case of pneumonia. If I sound morbid about it, it’s because it has been pretty brutal.   There were a few long nights were I stayed up rubbing dear Frankie’s chest while he hacked his little lungs out.  The poor guy has had a rough time of it the last few months.  The vet wanted to hospitalize him, and honestly I did too, but it’s bad enough our finances have suffered so much the last year from my health, as much as I love Frankie I can’t see going into debt over him. 

So we hit him hard with meds and I have spent hours playing nursemaid.  We are on the third round of antibiotics and though were aren’t out of the woods yet, I am feeling more hopeful.  He’s been able to sleep through the last few nights, which means I have been able to sleep more. On nights when he was up coughing and we were both waiting for the medicine to kick in, I did what I often do when I can't sleep, I looked at patterns online. 

On a recent episode of Electric Sheep, Katie talked about the "Beekeper's Quilt."  If you haven't listened to Electric Sheep, you really should.  It's a lot of fun, and Katie has a great voice.  Her comments about the beekeper's quilt intrigued me.  There was a project out there that over 2600 knitters were knitting and I had never heard about it.  How did it slip buy me? 

Okay, here is the thing.  I hate afghans, blankets, baby blankets, quilting, sewing, fiddly things, toys, etc.  There is NOTHING about the Beekeper's quilt that calls to me, EXCEPT for some darn reason it called to me.  I watched Stephanie's video, and once again, I was swept away.

Wouldn't it be great to get rid of all those little balls of sock yarn that I had been collecting?  And wouldn't it be nice to have a portable project? And everyone needs a blanket, and some knitters out there were just making cushions with there puffs.  Who doesn't need a cushion. 

I hit buy now, and download, and within in the hour I was casting on.  For two days in a row, I have overdyed yarn to make miniskeins. 

You only need 15 yards per puff!

The other thing about this project is it's immediate gratification.  It takes me about 45 minutes to knit and stuff a puff.  Some people are doing it in a half hour, I am not there yet, but I have around 480 more to make if I want a blanket so there is time for me to get up to speed. I get to change yarn, and color constantly.  There are colors that I never get to knit with because they don't look good on me.  I haven't knitted with orange in six months.  I never knit with yellow.

Last Sunday, I went to a fiber swap and I left with a bunch of my friends cast offs.  It makes me so happy to know that I will be knitting with their remnants.  I know this sounds hokey, but I love thinking about the fact that when I finish the blanket, I will have a part of them always with me. 

Anyway, I could show you pictures of all my fingeringweight stash, but if your like me you probably have a lot of stash of your own that you can look at, so instead I am going to show you a picture of my first round of puffs.  Since this picture was taken, I have knit 7 more puffs.  I think I am up to 21 now.

 

 

 

 

"You had me at Hello."

 

 

 

 When I met Lucy, it was LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.  I wanted to cuddle her, hug her, feed her, and tend to her.  

“Take care of for the next 17 years?"

"No problem?”

Our first week back in Brooklyn, my infatuation with her continued.  I bought her toys, made her toys, and would take breaks during the day to play with her. 

DH would look at her wistfully and say things like, “We didn’t do her any favors taking her out of Georgia.  She needs another cat to play with.”

 “Another cat? Really?”

Guilt would set in. I was an only child and I always wanted someone to play with.  I would look at her playing by herself, and I would feel lonely. 

Along with worrying about Lucy's emotional well being, I spent our first week in Brookly back very worried about Frankie.   The first 24 hours back in Brooklyn, he was very sick.  He had a litany of symptoms ranging from frequent urination, to athritis in his legs, to blood in his stool.  The symptom that worried me most was when he got really lethargic.  Frankie has been hobbling around since he was 4. I had taken him to the down in Macon for the arthritis.   He has never been a particularly athletic or active dog, but he’s always been a lover and a fighter. 

When a 24 hour period had gone by where he hadn’t barked at anything, I knew it wasn’t just exhaustion from the trip, or him getting into something foul, I knew there was something very wrong.  It turns out he had a pretty bad infection and the vet also thought it could be diabetes. 

“Dog diabetes? Really?" 

"Oh God, didn't we just go through the BC, and the loss of Beanie.  This was suppose to be the summer of fun." 

Around this time my vet also told me about a little kitten that they were fostering.  “Hmm, sounds cute. Really though, I don’t even like cats, I mean I like Lucy, cause she’s Lucy, but overall I am a dog person.  I really got Lucy, more for Frankie, and now he's sick. I can’t think about another animal until he’s doing better."

About a week and a half later, I brought Frankie back in to re-check his blood work, and to see if the antibiodic was working.  I also brought Lucy in for her first round of shots and to make sure she was healthy.  I had pulled about 100 fleas of her, when we first got her.  She had been leaving outside behind a dead refriegerator, so when the vet said she had ear mites and worms, I wasn't surprised.  

Although Frankie, was doing a lot better, for the most part he still wasn’t that interested in the kitten.  I played with her, snuggled with her, slept with her.   It turns out like me, she loves all things knitting and spinning, which is fun to watch but also doesn’t exactly make for much in the way of project completion.

 

On a side note, I joined the Bridge of Roses KAL on Ravelry. It’s a gorgeous kit, and $2 goes to BC research.

 For the most part, she ignored Frankie but she loved us, and she wasn’t afraid of him.  Overall, she just seemed to adjusting pretty well. 

The vet again asked me if I wanted to see the kitten.  “Yah, I'll look at him.”

The vet tech brings in this little black thing.  He has one yellow eye and one blue eye. The blue eye was clouded over because at 5 weeks old he had a bad eye infection.  He was only 7 weeks old, and he had ready been flawed.  He looked like a tough little street fighter, and he was as ugly, as Lucy was pretty. 

“Hmm, let me call my husband.”

I called DH.  “The vet has a kitten they want to give me.  They will pay for his first round of shots, he’s all black, he has one blue eye and one green eye, he looks like a pirate.  He is the same age as Lucy.”

“Well, do you like him?” DH asked.

"I'm not sure yet, but I do feel bad for him, he's been at the vet for over a month, waiting to be adopted."

(This was a pix, the vet took when they first got him.)

In my heart, I thought he was an ugly kitten, I don’t like black cats (never have) and this one was even scarier looking that most.  When I first brought him home he meowed, and kept meowing. He bit me and clawed into me.  "Lucy was so quiet, and so pretty.  If I hated him, could I return him?  If it was just Lucy and Frankie, we could just hop in the car and run down to Macon.  Two cats, yikes! it was a lot more responsibility."

For 24 hours, my brain went into kitty overdrive.  How did I go from being a dog person to a cat person? Beanie had been my other half, the kittens well they were cute and all that, but “you can’t walk them, they don’t stay on the couch when put them on the couch.  Now that they have discovered each other, they are completely ignoring me.”

About 2 days into my relationship with the black kitten, something shifted.  It turns out Captain Jack likes to lay on the couch and he loves to snuggle.  He also likes to lick fingers. He also likes to push Lucy out of the way to get to his food bowel, and it turns out, he also likes the fiber arts, especially plying. 

 

On another side note, I have been doing Tour De Fleece this year.  Since I don’t typically spin a lot during the summer it’s been a good motivator.  Even with the kitten distraction, I am getting some spinning done.  I should have one of my wheels emptied by the time the tour is over.

It also turns out that Frankie likes the having both kittens around.  He barks at them as they go flying by.  He will even play with them a little which is huge for him. 

   

As for me, I like that everywhere I look there is activity.  I like that there is life in our apartment, after the “spring of sadness”.  I like knowing that Frankie won’t be alone during the day when I am at work.  I like knowing that Lucy has someone to play with.  And well, I love knowing that Captain Jack has a home. 

 

 

 

 

 

I Love Lucy.

The last few weeks of radiation, I felt completely shut down.  I was tired, that was a given.  I was sore, also a given and I knew that what we were going to have to put Beanie down, the saddest of all my givens.  Near the end of treatment, I found I just couldn’t talk to anyone.  The words had left me, and I think more than anything I just got tired of listening to myself talking to other humans. 

“My dog is sick, I am sick.  I feel tired all the time.  I have this stupid swelling under my arm.  Blah, blah, blah, blah.”

 I found it easier to read, knit, watch tv and wait for it to change. 

“It had to change didn’t it?”

“When God closes a door, he opens a window. This too shall pass.”

Something had to give. 

When, I finished radiation, more than anything I wanted to just get the hell out of New York.  I wanted and needed things to change.  I was tired of our hiding in our little apartment, and the sadness that felt like it had been going on so long that it had permeated into the walls. 

For the most part, I like myself, but the last few weeks of radiation, I found that I was tired of being me.  This felt pretty aggravating considering that I spent 43 years working on becoming a me that I could live with.  Grrr. 

We were about 6 months overdue for our annual trip down to Georgia, and the “to do list” down in Georgia was about a mile long.  It’s crazy how stuff piles up,

My driver’s license was expired, Frankie was overdue for his yearly shots, and both of our passports needed to be renewed. 

In addition to that,  one of the vain items on my to do list was cleaning out my closet.  When we moved back to New York, I had left the majority of my clothes down in Macon, especially the skinny ones.  In 2006, I had bought a pair of size 8 black pants that looked fantastic on me (for the month and a half that they actually fit) and I was dying to try them on again. 

I also wanted to go through my yarn stash and make sure that I had accidently left a skein of cashmere laying around.  As it turns out, I didn’t.  But I did find some really cute clothes when I went through the closet, and the black pants fit perfectly.  Unfortunately, my day of cleaning out my closet caused the seroma under my arm to swell up yet again.  It was back to the size of a golf ball, and I spent the first week in Macon in agonizing pain.  The first few days, I tried taking 800mg of Advil every 6 hours, but finally I called my surgeon and she told me I need to go the emergency room. 

I felt like I was dying the first day after they aspirated.  After spending some quality time and the foot of our toilet, I was finally I was able to sleep. I ended up sleeping on and off for 24 hours.

Thankfully, the next day a I felt better, and several days after the trip to the emergency room, I felt well enough to visit my friend Mrs. M. 

Mrs. M. is around 75 (?).  As our visit was coming to an end, she asked me she could pray for me.   I, of course, said “yes.”  It’s funny thing with me and God the last 4 months, I haven’t been able to pray and I have felt even less like going to church, but I knew Mrs. M. would do right by me.  She asked God to heal the “thing” under my arm, and I am happy to report that it’s been almost three weeks and the damn “thing” hasn’t swelled up. I have even started doing a light yoga practice again.   It still feels like I have a walnut under my arm, but I am hoping it’s healed up enough that I won’t have to go back under the knife.

On this same visit, I met and fell in love with:

She came from a liter of kittens that had found it’s way under Mrs. M.’s son’s house. 

DH & I have been talking for a few months about what we would do when Beanie passed.Frankie has always had another animal to keep him company, and I was worried he would be really lonely during the day when were both working. 

I also worried that the apartment in Brooklyn would feel very lonely without Beanie.    Beanie is the only pet that I have officially adopted.  Every other animal I have had, just arrived.  I believe in arrivals, and I believe in fate.  I was prepared to go to an animal shelter to look for our newest family member, but I was hoping for an appearance.

When I went home from visiting Mrs. M. I showed DH pictures of the kitten. 

“Isn’t she perfect? Wouldn’t she make a perfect playmate for Frankie?"

Don’t you think we should go grab her before someone else does?”

 Once again, I found myself hating the sound of my own voice.  At 43, I should be able to say, “I want this cat, and we are going to get her.”  Instead, I found myself begging, pleading and cajoling.

DH’s response to my whining was to say the cat was cute, and MAYBE we could pick her up after we got back from Florida. 

“MAYBE?”

Grrrr.  Adults really get to me when I am feeling childish. 

When we got back from Florida, I began my cat campaign again.  I am happy to report that although it took a couple days, DH finally succumbed to my childish antics.  

We kicked around a few names before landing on Lucy. 

For about 6 hours we were calling her Ki Ki, because she makes a strange ki-ki noise when you pick her up, but then I looked Ki-ki up. My favorite definition came from the urban dictionary:

"When two drag queen have sex (hook up) with each other.

Girl, I saw Shelita Buffet and Shanita Quit leaving after the show, together. I bet there was some scary ki ki going on at that house."

Yikes! That’s a lot for a little kitten to live up to. 

The only knitting project I finished on vacation was a pair of “vanilla socks.”

I am about 2/3 of the way through the odelia cardigan. It’s knit bottom up and I knit the sleeves two at a time.  Altough, I am very proud of this sweater because the yarn I am using for is 9 years old, I am also terrified I am going to run out of yarn before I finish.  I have been working on it non-stop so that if I do run out, I can justify the lost knitting time.  Somehow it sounds better to say, "It's okay that I ran out of yarn, it was only a vacation project versus  I spent four months working on it, and then realized I didn't have enough yarn."

 

Working on it non stop has slowed up my process on the Luciole.

I am on the last chart, but at this rate it will take me another four months to finish. 

I also played with my spindolyn spindle on vacation.  I can’t say enough how much I love this spindle.

The last 6 months I have really been trying to master the long draw. The spindolyn is great because if I screw up, the worst thing that happens is the spindle stops.  I can also switch to a modified long draw if the fiber starts to get to thick or thin. I also like it because Ican lay on the couch (or in a lounge chair) and spin.  

Really though, my favorite project right now is Lucy. 

 

 

 

 

 

Saying Goodbye to my BFF

Saying Goodbye to my BFF.

My friendship with Beanie began about 15 & ½ years ago.  She was a shelter puppy, a shepherd mix with floppy ears and one white paw. I adopted her with my soon to be ex-boyfriend.  She was our attempt at family, and settling down.  Two months into dog ownership, our pack of three, turned into a pack of two, and both Beanie and I were the better for it. As I cried every night into my glass of chianti, I found loving a dog is far superior to loving a boy and slowly, oh so slowly, I began my journey into adulthood.  My drinking and partying slowed down a lot.  It's really hard to stay out all night when you have a puppy at home.

When Beanie was 5 years old, we were joined by another shelter dog, a little Pomeranian named “Frankie Pom-Pom.”  Loving animals, slowly teaches you to love yourself, and after 20 years of drinking and doing drugs I decided to get sober and I went to AA. 

My first husband hated that I quit the bar scene, and resented the new grown up me.  He wanted his party girl back.  At two years half years into sobriety, I put on my “big girl pants” and I left him. The hardest part was the two weeks in between apartments when I had to leave my dogs with him.  I moved in with “soon to be” husband 2, a little orange tabby joined our pack, and we settled in to a life of domesticity.

 

Well, okay it was only domestic for a two years, and then it turned into insanity.  From 2005 until 2008, I traveled back and forth from New York to Macon, while DH renovated our house in GA.  Traveling took a toll on me, and as much as I missed my husband, I missed my dogs more.  Anyone who is reading this and this is a dog owner will understand.  Being away from Beanie was especially hard because she was getting older.

A big part of our relationship had been long walks together, and it wasn’t too long after we left Macon and moved back to Brooklyn, that long walks stopped being an option.  I remember the last long walk we took, it was about 2 years ago.  We walked 20 blocks to the neighborhood Blockbuster, and by the time we got back Beanie’s back paw had started bleeding.  I cried, and I have probably cried 40 times since then. 

I missed walking with her so much that about a year and half ago, I set up my yoga matt next to her bed in our bedroom,so she could be with me when I worked out.  About 8 months ago, I set my spinning wheel up next to her bed because she stopped coming into the living room, and I wanted an excuse to spend more time with her.  

If you read my last blog post, you know that dear Beanie got very sick in February right around the time I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  The vet put her on antibiotics and another medicine called Proin. I was scared and angry about having cancer, and I was overjoyed and grateful that my dog was better. My prayer, my wish, my mantra was that she would stay with me until I got through radiation.

 

Treatment was a slog for both of us.  I wasn’t suppose to lift anything, and Beanie couldn’t maneuver the stairs.  Most days she wasn’t strong enough to pee on her own. so I would have to lift her back hind legs up to give her the support to squat.  It became such a routine with us, that I could get her to pee inside on a wee-wee pad inside the house.

With both pride and sadness, I thought how brilliant my dog was, that at 15 & ½ she learned how to pee on a wee wee pad.  On days when I was feeling badly, I would watch tv in bed and knit.  I will be honest, there were a lot of days were I got frustrated and angry with her. Cleaning up pee when you are sore and tired from radiation isn’t fun.  Washing a gigantic cart load of dog bedding, at least once a week, isn't fun.  Lifting a 40 pound dog up and down stairs, knowing that she will probably pee on you at least once  isn’t fun.   And well, seeing your best friend suffer when you already feel beaten down is just plain miserable.

As radiation was coming to an end, I really started to struggle internally.  I knew that when I went back to work there would be no way to take care of Beanie.  DH & I had decided that when I finished radiation we would take a few weeks and go down to GA.  It had been over a year since we had been home, and the the "to do list" down there has been growing.

 

Our last road trip had been to Maine last summer.   Maine was stunning, but it had been a hard trip.   Beanie couldn’t get around very well, so we ended up having to leave her in the cottage, which in turn meant Frankie was left in the cottage.  We came back from one day trip, and Beanie was no where to be found.  I called her and she didn't come.  A few times as a puppy, when I left her on vacation she had jumped out the window.

"Could she have jumped out the window?"

I found her in one of the bedrooms, stuck under a dresser. 

Sometimes we would take them with us, but then we were always afraid to leave them in the car for too long, and Beanie often looked miserable in the back seat. 

Did I want a repeat of this?  Was it fair to Beanie, fair to Franke, fair to DH?  What about me?  I have just spent the last 4 & ½ months, fighting with cancer.  Technically, when they told me I had finished radiation, I had won.   I wanted to go for long walks on the beach, visit local yarn stores up and down the coast, stay in motels and not have to worry about cleaning up dog pee.  Uggh.

But more than that I wanted my dog with me. 

Funny thing about life, often I find that choices are made for me.  The day before I finished radiation, Beanie got another urinary tract infection.  I knew that in a matter of days she would be peeing blood again.  And I knew that if I took her to the vet, it would have to be her last visit. 

On Wednesday, I went for my final treatment and the machine was broken.  With an hour or more to kill, I decided to hit the local AA meeting.  On my way to the meeting, I saw a lot of dogs happily walking next to their owners.   The dogs looked happy, and for the most part the owners looked happy. How many months had it been since I had looked happy walking Beanie, or for that matter had she looked happy walking?  It was in that moment, that I realized I had to let her go. 

I don’t think often about heaven.  In fact, although I believe in God, I’m not sure about heaven, but for a moment there I had some clarity. I realized that once I put her down, I would see her again, and when I did she wouldn’t be my poor sick old dog, she would be the dog of my memory.  The dog that had hiked with me in the Catskills, ran with me in Cape Cod, went swimming with me in Florida, and carried me through a divorce, and early sobriety. 

So I did what a good friend would do, and I put her down today. DH had warned me that maybe I didn’t want to be with her when she went, but I knew I had to be.  I had her since she was a puppy, and I needed to take care of her until the end.  It was my job. 

Beanie was my daughter, my sister, my mother, my grandmother, and of course my very best friend. 

Radiate Me (or it doesn’t get any sexier than breast cancer)

I realized a few days ago, that if I didn’t blog soon, I probably never would again, so here goes it:

In early February, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Some of you that are reading this already know about the cancer, but my guess is there are a few of you that read my blog that don’t know.  A funny thing happened  to me when I was diagnosed, for awhile there, words failed me.  Crazy, right.  I dunno, I spent a good part of the first February feeling baffled. 

When I first was diagnosed, I actually got off the phone started laughing, and then of course about ten minutes later I started crying, but really it wasn’t until after I had the lumpectomy that news finally hit me.  I had found a lump in my breast in early December, but as usual, life (or work) got in the way and it took me until mid- December to get a mammogram, it was another three weeks before I got in to see my gyneocolgist, and another week before I got in for an ultrasound.

Every step of the way the doctors, said “Don’t worry, it’s probably nothing.” 

And you know what, I believed them.  Breast cancer has never been on my radar, it’s just not something I ever thought could happen to me. 

 "Ovarian cancer, maybe."

"Diabetes? sure, I love sweets.  why not?"

"Heart disease? It could happen."

"Getting ran over in the middle of 10th Ave., I was talking on my cell phone? Most definately!"

"Breast cancer? Very doubtful."

 

But if ten years of sobriety has taught me nothing else, it’s taught me to suit up and and show up, so I just did what I was suppose to do, and went in for the tests.  Between the ultra sound and the core biopsy, Beanie got really sick.  She started peeing blood, and that scared the ever loving bejesus out of me.  The tests on my breast added to my stress level, but I really didn't think about them.  

It ran like this:

 

Monday: ultra sound

Tuesday: rush to the vet, with a huge fear that this time I really would have to put her down.

Wednesday: gigantic needle stuck in breast.

Thursday: test results came back, and I had ductal carcinoma (a.k.a. breast cancer).

Thankfully, right around that time the the antibiodics I had been giving Beanie had kicked in, and it actually looked like she was going to live.  Whew!

"Wait, I have breast cancer?"

I laughed, I cried and then I made an appointment with a specialist.

I had a lumpectomy with a sentinel node biopsy on February 15^th,. I am stage 1, ER positive. My oncologist did the oncotype DX test to determine whether or not I needed chemo. Thankfully, it looked like my chances for recovery were just as good with hormone therapy and radiation, so I got to skip the chemo. 

I told a few people here and there, but as most of you know, I freelance in film and chose not to tell the people in my industry, except for the people in my department on the show I was currently working on. It was hard to avoid telling them because I wasn’t able to work for the week before my surgery (tests) or several weeks after (more tests/ appointments, and pain).

I went back to work about 3 weeks after the surgery, because I was waiting for test results to come back.  I started radiation about a month ago.  Originally, I was planning to work during radiation, but for the last three weeks, I have been in and out of the outpatient part of the hospital trying to get rid of a seroma that developed under my arm.

For those of you that have never heard of the term seroma, it’s basically fluid that collects near the surgery site.  So not sexy. 

 Mine is about the size of one of those plastic kid’s easter eggs, and after five attempts at draining it, the doctor at the hospital told me the only thing that would probably get rid of it was another surgery.   Grrr.

The following is from the post I wrote on the breast cancer after I got the news about my seroma, I wrote it about a week ago:

 

Well, for the first time since I was diagnosed I had a big cry today. I went in yesterday for the fifth time to get the lump under my arm aspirated. Twice was in the surgeon’s office so those don’t really count, but the last two times were under ultra sound. Once last Friday, it filled up right away, and then once yesterday. Yesterday we tried a compression bandage and I kept ice on it, but it was back to it’s normal size by this morning (actually it was a little bigger).

Let me backtrack, just a little, to state that I was suppose to go in to get it aspirated on Tuesday, but I was turned away because of a problem with my insurance! I sat in the hospital for two hours wondering why it was taking so long, and then they told me. I switched to my husband’s policy April 1st, have been going to radiation every day and sent in every form required BUT my provider they didn’t approve it. I won’t go into all the sorry details because I don’t care to relive it, but after 6 phone calls (several of them with the call on speaker phone as I read “War & Peace” in it’s entirety) I got the problem resolved.

Tuesday was insurance horror day. Wednesday was compression bandage, ice, and moving as little as possible in hopes that the damn thing wouldn’t swell up again, day.

And today found me crying when I met with my radiation oncologist, because he said the three most dreaded words in the English vocabulary, “How are you.”

I left radiation, put on my sunglasses, never mind the overcast day, called DH and had him talk me off the cliff and give me the strength to put on my big girl pants and go back into the hospital. The doctor who drained me, took me right away, but alas her recommendation is to consult with my surgeon. She thinks it’s too close to other vessels, and that she might be hitting them when she tries to go in to drain it. She mentioned sceloropathy, which would require the surgeon going back in there. It’s minor surgery, but “God.”

My guess is my surgeon will want to wait on it, until I am through with radiation, but “God.” My underarm hurts almost all of the time, more so when I am lifting things (which I try not to do), and more so with a sport bra, than without. I am a 34D so it’s hard for me to go bra less, unless I am sedentary. And of course, I have been jabbed on three different occasion in the last week with big needles, so it’s hard to really now how my armpit is really feeling, but I remember complaining about it for a good solid month before I even tried to get it resolved because I kept praying the stupid pain would go away.

Okay, that’s enough out of me, except to say radiation has been okay. I have some light blistering, but I grew up in FL, and a sun baby, so I just keep putting ointment on it. I bought a slew of products when my nipple was going haywire (aloe, aquaphor, & udder cream) but to date the one I like best is the vitamin A&D ointment. The only down side is it stains my tank tops, and I smell like a baby. Yesterday, it stained one of my nice shirts, it had bled through from one of my sports bras and that made me mad.

And on one other silly side rant, today after my mini breakdown, I decided to wash my dog’s bedding. As I have mentioned before I have a very old girl, and she tends to have accidents, so weekly washing are more than a must, and I figured since the last two days have been such a huge waste of time maybe if I got this one small chore done and dragged my sorry butt to laundromat, I would feel saner. Well, I went to switch the bedding from the washer to the dryer and it was soaked! If it had been my home washer in GA, I would of just reran it knowing that it just needed to be spun out, but since it was the laundromat, I just put a lot of quarters in the dryer and fled the scene. It’s also pouring out. Hmm.

@#$%, %#!, and POOP.

After I wrote the post, if not better, at least resinged that nothing I was going to do would change what was going on under my arm, so I said, "F--k it, and Ipulled out a bunch of fiber and started carding.  I figured if my underarm was going to swell up again, so be it, let it be over something useful like batts for my spindolyn spindle.  Of course, on Saturday, I was sore, but at least I had pretty batts to look at. 

The swelling and the pain comes and goes depending on how much lifting I am doing.  I have the smallest purse and the world, that I somehow still manage to carry two projects in, and I really do try and minimize how much I carry these days. 

This morning, I made the mistake of carrying too much stuff home from the grocery store, and my underarm is once again throbbing.  Big f-in' boo on that one.

Out of everything I have gone through, the damn seroma it the thing that aggravates me the most.  When I think about it, I get down right hostile, I guess, it’s because it feels like there is no end date with it.  I have an appointment with my surgeon next Monday, but I have already decided that I don’t want to go through another surgery until after I have healed completely from radiation. 

I have also decided that as soon as I get through radiation, I want to get in our old Buick and drive out of here.  It’s been almost a year since we have left New York City, and it feels a lot longer.  I want to see trees, empty highways, and sky.  I don’t want to see hospitals, doctors, or hospital gowns (so not sexy).  You get the idea.

At this point, I would like to take a moment to share with you some of the bizarre things have been rocking my world, as of late.  I'm not sure why, but I always find it fascinating what excites me:

1.    Vitamin A&D ointment. Per doctor’s advice, I started using this stuff on a certain part of my anatomy that would not settle down, and all I can say is, WOW.  It may makes me smell like a baby’s butt, it’s worth it. 

2.    Knitmore Girls podcast (thank you Gigi & Jasmine).

3.    Netflicks on Demand (Glee season 1, Drop Dead Diva, and now Lost-OH, bad television, How Great thou Art).

4.    Lace Knitting.  (I usually don’t have the concentration for lace, but I am currently on my third lace project.  Most mornings you can find me on the #6 train counting or cursing).

5.    Spring (On good days, I have been walking with my Golding through the cemetery, on bad days, I look over at the cemetery and thank God, it’s above freezing.). 

6.    Finding the back entrance to Lenox Hill Hospital. (There is never a wait for the elevator. Yay!)

7.    Warmed Almond Milk with Tumeric.  (It works as a sleep aide, and apparently Tumeric is suppose to be a good natural anti-inflamatory.  Who knew?)

8.    My nook (thank you Jodi Picoult keeping me company, all the nights my boob woke me up, and it took awhile to fall back to sleep).

9. My little itty, bitty K-Mart purse. 

Anyway, that gives you a very brief down on my life with breast cancer.  I have knitted more in the last few months than I probably have in the last few years.  I finished the Linden, the Traveling Woman Shawl, the Alhambra, the Endpaper Mitts, and the Amanda Hat.  I am hours away from finishing the Luciole, and I am hoping to cast on another shawl before radiation ends.   It’s a weird goal, but my original cancer goal was to the finish all my UFO’s, and I have finished all but one of them, so I need something new to shoot for.

"Hmm, maybe I should see how many shawls I can finish before the seroma under my arm goes down?"

“The Pink Stuff & Useful Things”

 

Winter is tough, and every year, I complain about it. On that note, I am not going to go on a long-winded diatribe and tell you how much damn snow we have gotten this year.  I won't bore you with what you already know, and if you aren't up here suffering along with me, like they always say a picture is worth a thosand words:

"Yuck!" It is my humble opinion, that this is by far one of the nasties winters I have seen since 2002, and this morning I woke up contemplating how I was going to survive until April. 

“Oh wait, that’s right, I knit.” 

“And, I spin.”

“And I have 6 fleeces under my bed.”

“Whew.”

“And I own a wii, Fresh Direct delivers to my neighborhood, a new yoga studio opened up near my house, and I am on a first name basis with the UPS guy.”

So at least if “Life isn’t good, at least it doesn’t suck” and being that I live with a news junkie, I am reminded every day my life could be a lot worse.  I don’t leave in Middle East, and I don’t live in the Midwest, and given my personality traits, escaping both fates is probably very good thing.  The idea of shoveling two feet of snow in a burka seems like a fate far worse than surviving.  “Shoveling snow in Burka versus tramping through piles of snow, and my much used Anne Klein coat. Hmm, what should I do?"

“Wow, I just remembered that there are suppose to be a high concentration of Muslims in the Minneapolis..  Winters there must be really tough!”

Okay, as usual I digress.  This blog post was suppose to be about some of the useful things I have discovered recently that have made surviving the winter a lot easier.

I have written at length about spinning, knitting, carding, and dyeing. I have also written about the virtues of coffee, but here is a short list of some of the other things that are rocking my world right now:

1.    My i-phone.  I was a blackberry girl for many years, and I could and should do a blog entry on why the i-phone is by far superior to the blackberry.  The short version, is “Dear i-phone, what don’t you do?” I use my i-phone for everything and besides the obvious, my favorite things to use it for are timing my meditation, and as a detailed tracker for my patterns.  I splurged on the vogue knitting ap, and it’s a great way to track my patterns and remember where I am in each pattern.

2.    My Wii.  I have been using my wii for about a year and a half, and I still love it.  I would love to live in a shi-shi neighborhood, and go to a shi-shi gym, but alas I don’t.  I live in one of those God-forsaken parts of Brooklyn where there is easy parking and cheaper rent. There are gym people, and there are non-gym people.  I am a gym person.  I like walking on a treadmill, lifting weights, and sitting in the sauna. I can make a day out of a trip to the gym, and frankly, I get enough of the outside, when I am outside for work so I am fine with air conditioned and heated work outs.

When I first bought my wii, I was of the mind set that even if all I was doing on my wii was sitting on top of my balance board there would be more movement involved than with my previous exercises routing, which consisted of sitting on the couch and knitting.  As it turns out, although my work out needs have changed over the last year, my wii has changed with it.  I went through the "Fat/ Lazy Girl work out" (wii fit) to the more aerobic “burn that fat, girl” work out (Just Dance, Wii Active, and My Fitness Coach) to my recent phase, which is the long, lean girl work out, which I am happy to report is yoga, yoga, and more yoga. I have always loved yoga, and recently, I bought the New U Mind and Body.  I am not sure how great it would be for learning yoga, but as a supplement to classes it does the trick. 

3.    Suryasta Yoga: OMG, a true miracle, a yoga studio has opened up near my house and it’s foundation is in Jivamutki yoga.  When I first moved to New York, I studied at Jivamukti.  The studio took off, and has become a technique unto itself, with studios and teachers popping up all over the place including Hollywood.  In the 90’s there were lots of celebrity sightings at the class, and although I found taking yoga with Willem Dafoe great for my pigeon pose,  I really can't deal with busy places on my days off.  Once my little studio became super trendy, it became hard to just roll out of bed and go to class.  When I moved to Williamsburg, one of the teachers from Jivamutkti opened “Go Yoga” and I found a my second yoga home.  I studied there for about five years, but when I moved to Park Slope and then down to Macon, I stopped taking classes.

The great thing about yoga is that you can and should have your own practice, and thankfully even when I was very overweight I still incorporated a lot of yoga into my life.  When I got to goal weight in October, I realized that I wanted less cardio and free weights,and more flexibility and more of a spiritual connection to my body.  I had already decided that I need to start taking class again, and when my friend Sara told me there was a good yoga studio near my house, I was certain it was a sign from HP, God, Krishna, or Joe Pesci.  The first time I went to class at studio, I almost cried, it felt like coming home.  I have done skinny yoga, but I was abusing my body with chemicals.  I have done fat yoga, but I was abusing my body with food.  It may have taken me twenty short years to get to here, but all I can say is “Sober, skinny yoga rocks!”

4.    Fresh Direct.  If you live in New York, you already know about Fresh Direct, and if you don’t you probably don’t need to know.  The short version is Fresh Direct started delivering to my house about 3 months ago.  Happy, happy, joy, joy. 

 5.    Netti pot:  I always thought a netti pot was kind of gross, but over the holidays I got a 'killer ' cold and spent about 3 weeks wishing my nose would fall off and not tasting anything.  I could of almost lived with it, but I kept worrying that having a sinus infection might just lead to another bout of vertigo.  In the end, snorting water seemed like a small price to pay for clear sinus passages.  My UPS guy brought me a very pretty netti pot from Amazon, but prior to the delivery I picked up a cheap one from Rite Aide.  Both work, but if you are planning to snort a lot of water, I recommend the porclain model.

6.    Swimmers: also delivered by the UPS guy.  Swimmers so far have saved my dog Beanie’s life.  Poor Beanie, she’s an old girl (15 & 1/2!) and she just can’t get through the day/ night without peeing in the house.  Having an old dog is a lot like having a puppy, you swear a lot, and you pray a lot, sometimes at the same time.  “Dear God, please help me, I really want to kill this f—king dog!”  Doggie diapers are expensive and you can’t find them around here.  I surfed the web and found this article.  Swimmers are a little more expensive than regular diapers, but they are worth the extra cost, because they stay on without a safety pen and they don’t shed everywhere.  It turns out all diapers work on dogs, with a little finagling, but the swimmers are the best.  I cut a cross in the pack and pull her tail out, I use a wee wee pad (courtesy of Mr. Pom) to changer her on.  It’s not perfect and we are still dealing with accidents and lots of laundry, but for today Beanie’s life has been spared.

 

7.    Nook: All my knitting patterns are stored on my i-phone, but the nook is by far easier to read patterns on than the i-phone.  “Oh, you can also put books on your nook.  Go figure.”

Okay, I know you have been reading this and thinking when is she going to get to the knitting?  And why the hell hasn’t she told us more about that really cute hoodie she was modeling at the beginning of this entry?” You can find out all about it by reading my notes on my project page  on ravelry. 

“Is a knitted pink hoodie as useful as a yoga class, fresh direct, a nettie pot, an iphone or swimmers?” Honestly, probably not, but being fashionbably cute is always useful, and knitting in spring colors in the middle of a snowstorm is a lot cheaper than therapy, so ……..

“Heck ya! A moebius, pink hoodie that has been knitted with a lovely blend of kid mohair, BFL and merino that was carded, naturally dyed and spun by yours truly.  It doesn't get any better than that!"

Long overdue

The first time I cast on the endpaper mitts was the winter of 2006. I had decided to make them because several of the girls in my Purling Peaches Group in Macon wanted to make them. 

The hours with my knitters kept me sane.  I tried the Italian cast on twice, and then put the mitts down.  The pull of toe up socks was calling me, and the figure eight cast on is by far easier to learn.

From 2005 until 2008, I split my time pretty evenly between Macon, GA and New York.  The two towns are very different and about the only time I felt any since of normalcy was when I was getting a pedicure with my husband’s niece in the little town of Byron, or sitting with my knitters at the Joshua Cup in downtown Macon.

"The Joshua Cup was a Christian Café," this was whispered to me over a cup of coffee in one of my early visits.  I don’t remember what my response was but my I am sure it was something like “Toto, we aren’t in Kansas anymore,” or more likely “Toto, we aren’t in the Emerald City anymore.” 

My life felt fractured until 2009.  I spent most of my time in both places, wishing I was somewhere else.  When I was in Macon, I missed New York, and when I was in New York, I missed Macon.  I left pieces of myself in both places.  In New York, there was my career, my friends, my meetings, and my past.  In Macon, there were my belongings, my history (packed in boxes), my husband and my dogs.

For five years, this time of year has been filled with McDonald’s drive-thrus, road trip knitting, trips down to Florida to see my mom, country buffets, all you can eat Chinese, chocolate chip cookies, red bull and not enough sleep.  

 A funny thing happened this year, DH and I both worked up until December 23^rd and we are both scheduled to go back to work on January 3rd. I got sick the weekend before Christmas and DH worked 11 days in a row and his first day off was December 34^th.  As the countdown to Christmas got closer, all I could think was how very much I wanted a Christmas tree this year.  I became obsessed with the thought.  If we drove down to Macon, would I even be in our house on the 25^th.  I wanted to wake up on Christmas morning and know where I was. I didn’t want to wake up in motel, I didn’t want to be on the road for 16 hours, I didn’t want to have bad Chinese food for Christmas dinner (my husband’s favorite) and I didn’t want to visit my mom. 

I wanted to go to the midnight mass at my church, wake up on Christmas day and go to my normal Saturday meeting, and watch hours and hours of bad cable tv.  As it turns out, this is exactly what I got to do.  I also got to order in Japanese, knit and nap on my couch, spin on my wheel, and card out 2 pounds of fiber. 

It wasn’t the most exciting Christmas I have ever had, but it was drama free. (Actually, kind of thinking that in itself was pretty exciting.)

About three weeks ago, I cast on the endpaper mitts again.  I taught myself the Italian cast on.  It took about 6 tries, but I did it.  I am not sure why, but there is something innately stubborn about me.  I can’t stand to lose, and I hate to feel beaten. 

The endpaper mitts have been on my “to do list” for a long time now.  My “to do” list is a long one. It’s filled with the practical, like dental work and the impractical like running the NYC marathon.  I am happy to report that this several of my long term goals were met: I had three crowns put in; I have health insurance; I completed my first fleece to sweater project; after 8 long tedious years of being on and off Weight Watchers I finally made goal weight; and this year for the first time since 2004 with the help of DN, I put up a Christmas tree. 

 

 

It’s funny, it’s the little things like putting up my first Christmas tree in 6 years that make me think that some day I might actually be able to do some of the bigger things on my list, like doing yoga in India, reading “War and Peace, or running the NYC marathon.

Anyway, we’ll see what happens.  BTW, HOORAY, we just got hit with a blizzard, yay! more guilt free knitting time.