S.O.C.K.S Happened...

But it was a near thing.  I am committed to my participation in the Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization program.  After ten months of knitting in isolation and developing rather questionable habits which might be misinterpreted out in the world-at-large, I feel it is vital that I relearn the art of being with others in a socially acceptable way.  

Left to my own devices, I tend to make up little songs about things within my visual range, wear mismatched socks and find the funny in stuff that no one else could ever see as humorous.  I really need the practice.

However, I am incredibly tired after yesterday's mad rush to find and disinfect all the filters that I was, apparently, supposed to be maintaining throughout the years.  Once I found one that looked kind of yucky, it became clear to me that filters must become a priority around here lest I expire from poor air quality inhalation.  

Anyone who was questioning my need to practice social skills whenever possible is probably starting to see why it might be necessary.

Anyhoo...Filtration Refreshification takes a lot out of a girl.  Today, I found myself quite tuckered out.  I also found my back to be kind of sore.  I lolled about on the couch in my jammies until nearly 10:00 and only dressed myself in something quasi-not-pajama-ish because the cats were starting to look at me askance.  

Which is saying something because this is pretty much what they do all day...

Even the act of putting on something with hooks and buttons was not enough to really wake me up or motivate me to be anything other than a couch potato.  I think that the most ambitious thing I did all day was heat up a Hot Pocket so that I would be well-nourished for my afternoon nap.

But, tired or not, I was still able to make it down to The Yarn Sellar for a little of the group knitting.  If nothing else, I was able to leave the house knowing that I was very well-rested and that the air would be well-filtered in my absence.  I took a sock along for the ride.  Socks are good projects for S.O.C.K.S.

Better than The Thing That Will Never Grow Up To Be A Sweater.  That is not a travel project.  It lives under cover of darkness, perhaps never to see the light of day.  For all my being tired , I must admit that I did knit upon it today.  I'd like to think I'm giving it a chance before it all falls apart according to the rules of The Blog Sweater Curse.  It has, after all, been behaving pretty well.

Then today, I had to frog the sleeve...I almost feel better when it all goes wrong.

SA

Filtered Thoughts

Because I am on summer break and have the option to sleep later should I so choose, I am finding myself staying up until the wee hours.  As such, I have the opportunity to take advantage of certain television viewing options that are not normally within my working girl menu.

I was sitting, goggle-eyed, before an infomercial the other night and marveling at the amazing powers of the steam blaster being wielded by the salesman.  As part of his sales pitch, he was cleaning all sorts of things with wild abandon.  At one point, he presented the host with the filter from a range hood and asked her if she had ever had the chance to really inspect one.  She chuckled rather self-deprecatingly and admitted that she didn't even know that they came off like that.

I smiled patronizingly.  They were obviously discussing those new-fangled sorts of stoves.  With all the recent advances in cooking technology, maintenance is certainly much more than it used to was.  I felt fortunate to have one of the older models here at the manse.  These workhorses don't require the removal of the filter.  They are kept tidy through the power of magic and positive thinking.  

I went to bed feeling like progress was overrated.

I awoke wondering if I might be overly optimistic.  I still felt pretty confident in my range hood's ability to filter freely without my intervention...but I thought it couldn't hurt to check.  I craned my neck a bit and, sure enough, the filter seems to be removable.  Further, it is clearly imprinted with a strong admonition regarding the need to replace them regularly for optimal performance.

Who knew?

Well, I most certainly wasn't going to replace it!   Not with the knowledge passed on to me from the experts on the infomercial at my disposal!  I may not have their super-duper, fancy-schmancy steamer.  But I do have one I got on sale at the drug store that time.  I determined that I would go forth and clean this filter with the disinfecting power of the steam as God and the infomercial people intended.

I scared the heck out of the cats.  But the filter was duly steamed to within an inch of its life.

I couldn't help but think that a dunk in some soapy water then a good rinse might have been equally effective.  But I have learned that, if you can count on nothing else in this crazy world, you can count on this:  Infomercials do not lie.  They are veritable paragons of virtue in a society gone mad with hypocrisy.  

I then began to wonder if there might be other filters lurking about the place and of which I had no prior awareness.  I am not the best of housekeepers.  Or anything even like a housekeeper, if the truth be told.  It isn't outside the realm of possibility that I might have missed one or two of the things around here designed to keep me from a nasty, moldy kind of death.  I began to investigate.

And, would you believe it?  This place is lousy with filters!  They are on some of the fans.  There's one in the hydroponic gardening thingy.  I found another in the hood of the litter box and, great golly Miss Molly, there were two of the things lurking within the vacuum cleaner!  They are everywhere, for crying out loud!  

And each of them seems to be labeled with clear directions around their care, cleaning and eventual need for replacement.  This is of some concern given that I can't recall ever cleaning a filter around here except for the one on the propane heater and I only do that because I have a paralyzing fear of explosions.  

It's been a long day.  The steamer is begging for a break and the air is saturated after my frantic efforts at dealing with the issue of all these neglected filters.  I may have actually created my own weather system here.

I further suspect that there are many more filters around here that I haven't even thought of.  It's not going to be the summer vacation I'd planned.  I will be spending my days crawling around and banging on various surfaces looking for filters.  If the ones I found today are any indication, then I am going to be in for some serious scrubbing time.

By now, I trust that you are all suitably impressed with my ability to avoid discussing The Thing That Will Never Grow Up To Be A Sweater And Yet Which Still Doesn't Seem To Be Going All That Badly So Now I'm Even More Scared Of It.  Other than my fears around yarn yardage, I just can't seem to find the flaw.  There must certainly be one...but it has yet to materialize.  

Every step up the mountain increases my confidence that I shall, one day, defeat the Dreaded Blog Sweater Curse.  It also ensures that, when I fall, it will be from an even greater and more pain-inducing height.  

Better to focus on the filter situation.  I hear tell that there might be one in the space heater and another lurking in the bathroom vent.  That should keep me occupied for a while.

SA

Say Cheese!

The life of The Daily (almost) Blogger is not an easy one.  Every once in a while, you come up against a day that is naught but a blank slate.  Topics are not plentiful.  Not even identifiable upon close examination.

I could show you The Thing That Will Never Grow Up To Be A Sweater, I suppose.  But that just seems kind of mean.  I'm really just knitting blithely away until I get to the point where I will, inevitably, screw it up beyond all repair.  That is the way of The Blog Sweater Curse, you see.  I'd like to think positively about it, but the years I've been blogging have not been good ones for sweaters, I fear.  And there are any number of things working against me here, not the least of which being the fact that I don't really have enough yarn.  Hence, I am going to have to do some creative patterning at the yoke and stranded knitting has never gone well for me either.  Frankly, the whole thing is really just a disaster waiting to happen and you don't deserve my getting your hopes up only to have them cruelly dashed when the whole thing goes up in flames.

I think better of you.

The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty is always good for a post.  But you have all been pretty patient with my overly enthusiastic blogging about the newest member of the family and I don't want to abuse your kind natures.  Besides, all he's really done today is:

1.  Fallen asleep in his kitty bed.

2.  Rolled out of his kitty bed.

3.  Woken up on the floor and looked confused.

4.  Staggered back to his kitty bed

5.  See steps 1-4.

He had a fairly busy morning and is tired.  I suspect it is going to be an "interesting" evening once he wakes up, but that doesn't really help me now, does it?

When I'm stuck for topics, food is always a nice thing.  I like food.  I don't always have a good variety of foods around the house being as I'm a picky eater and all.  But I can talk about it pretty enthusiastically.  Why don't we talk about cheese for a while?  Cheese is one of those things I've been eating more of lately.

I got the results of my mammogram last week (all is well) and, in typical fashion, my doctor's office neglected to remember that I had other stuff done as well.  The nurse seemed a bit surprised when I suggested that the results of my bone density test and Vit. D screening might be handy information for me to have.  After great shuffling of paper and two phone calls, she was able to locate the pertinent data.

I was pleased to learn that things have improved with my skeletal structure.  I was diagnosed with Osteopenia a couple of years ago and was not really looking forward to the next stage of the process:  Osteoporosis.  I'd like to think I could hold off on that until I feel I am mature enough to warrant having Old Lady Bones.  I guess I didn't know that you could add bone mass...but I'm not arguing the point.  I've been really trying my hardest to get more calcium into my system since the diagnosis.  The problem for me is that I just can't remember to take those stupid supplements.  I forget...  So I've tried to eat a bit more dairy.  Apparently, this has gone well.

Sadly, it has not been enough to keep me at a healthy level of Vitamin D.  I failed that test miserably.  Well...not miserably.  But enough so that I am being reminded to remember that I keep forgetting to take the supplements.  It was suggested that I get some of those chocolate flavored chewables like you see the happy old ladies gnawing on in the commercials.  

I did.  They are quite tasty.  I'll probably only forget to remember that I forgot to take them once or twice a week now.  Or I'll remember to not forget them but I'll do it two or three times per day...

Still, it couldn't hurt to keep up with the mineral intake through the consumption of foodstuffs.  It made my bones thicker, right?  Who knows what I could do for the vitamin D if I really put my mind to it?  Maybe next time, I'll have enough of the stuff to donate some to other poor, deficient women!

So I decided to make a paneer this weekend.  I first began noodling about with the idea of making cheese when I read about it on The Purloined Letter.  (She does the coolest stuff...)  Experiments have gone rather well, overall.  Sadly, all I had on hand this weekend was 2% milk, but I thought I might be able to squeeze a curd or two out of it if I really focused on the task.  The cow juice was dutifully heated and lemon juice was added to make it separate.  There was straining, draining and lots of squishing.  This was followed by a great deal of molding and shaping.  Finally, the little round of cheesy goodness was soaked in a cool bath before being rolled in some dried herbs for flavor.

Before I knew it, I had me some cheese:

Not a great deal of cheese...but cheese nonetheless!

Paneer is similar to goat's cheese in texture.  In and of itself, it has little flavor, but you can add whatever you like to make it taste however you want.  You can cube it in salads, eat it on crackers and even slice up the firmer versions for frying.  Plus you get to say you made cheese and who else do you know is going to be saying that around the water cooler come Monday morning?  

(You can also say you cut the cheese, but that could be said by lots of people even though they don't mean it the way you do and it probably isn't the kind of thing you want the boss hearing you say when he's strolling by on his way to the pastry cart.)

I am pleased with my efforts this weekend.  I remembered to eat The Chocolate Old Lady Candy every day and added a little homemade vitamin D for good measure.  The doctor would be so very proud.  If she remembered that I needed to stop forgetting to remember, that is...

And, for those of you who are interested in these sorts of things, Prometheus The Absurdly Gi-Normous Kitty has rolled out of his kitty bed for the fiftieth time today.  I'm going to go wake him up.  I think it's funny when he tries to figure out how he ended up on the carpet.  

I'm also thinking it's all the distractions around here that keep me from remembering to not forget what I am supposed to be remembering.  Or is it forgetting?  I can't remember...

SA

Destruction/Distraction/Disturbing...

I guess it was wishful thinking on my part.  But you can't live on wishes.  "Hope" is all well and good when it works out...but sometimes it doesn't.  

I've lived for many years with nice girl kitties who had little interest in the yarn.  Sure, the Big, Fluffy Kitty has a bit of a hankering for straight needles, particularly those which are actively knitting, but that isn't such a big deal.  I work almost exclusively on circs or dpns anyway.  

Yup.  I had me quite the little Utopia goin' on around here.

And then I brought home Prometheus The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty.  He was pretty good about the yarn at first.  He had other stuff to do.  All the cupboards needed to be opened.  The curtains needed to be pulled down for inspection.  There was tuna fish to taste test for possible contaminates.  The females of the household needed to be kept safe from bugs both real and imaginary.  It's not like the poor boy didn't have a full agenda.

Eventually, though, he was going to find it.  That yarn wasn't going to escape his attention forever.  And, recently, it has become his one true passion.  He likes yarn that is in use.  He likes yarn that is just sitting innocently in a basket waiting to be knit.  He likes full skeins of yarn because they sometimes live in bags and he can free them for hugging.  Yarn is truly a beautiful thing if you are an AGK.

I, the knitter, am not quite so thrilled with this new hobby.  I like my yarn to be free of cat saliva and in one, continuous strand.  I'm funny that way, I suppose.  It was time to take action!!!

This called for the ultimate in Kitty Distraction Techniques.  I required something so tantalizing as to be impossible to resist and yet also something which could be entertaining without my direct involvement.  Knitting is hard when you are an active participant in the process of distraction.  I knew of only one possible thing which could help me in my hour of need:

The Automated Kitty Toy!

Of course, this was going to be a bit of a challenge.  The AGK managed to break the thing within an hour of first discovering it.  But, I like to think of myself as a resourceful sort of Sheep.  I have stuff.  Lots of stuff.  There had to be something around here that I could use to resurrect the mighty Automated Kitty Toy...

And Sheepie said, "Lo, let there be duct tape...and it was good."

With the Kitty Distractor back in operation, at least in a limping manner, there was harmony once again at the manse.  Whenever the AGK got a little too invested in the yarn, all I had to do was pick him up, gently tease the strand of yarn from his tightly clenched jaws, avoid his mighty paw swipes as he tried to regain that which he so loves and deposit him in front of The Distractor.  One push of a button and I've got me a kitty who will play himself into exhaustion while I knit happily away.  

I felt powerful and in control of my household.  I am the best parent ever!  I should write a book...

But there has recently been something of a disturbing development.  I am beginning to wonder if I might have underestimated the degree to which I rule this particular roost.  Yesterday, while I knit placidly and hardly swearing at all on The Thing That Will Probably Never Grow Up To Be A Sweater, I heard a sound.  I hear sounds all the time, but this one struck me as odd.  Familiar...but not something I should be hearing.  And, from the corner of my eye, I caught this:

An orange blur...

Well...I guess that's not so unusual.  I did, after all, set the thing near the fan.  That little feather must have fluttered slightly in the breeze and caused my handsome boy to bat at it a bit.  But wait...that feather is moving!  It is moving in a circular pattern!  It is whipping about for the AGK's entertainment which means that the "on" button was pushed!!!!  And, oh dear merciful heaven...

 It was not I what pushed that button.  

He turned it on all by himself.

If you don't hear from me, send help.  There is every reason to believe I have lost my fragile handle on the situation here...

SA

Grocery Grump

It's me.  I know this.  In fact, I have even come to accept it.  Life is too short to spend all that time trying to change things that can't be altered.  It should be spent stockpiling canned food and worrying about zombies.

I cannot go to the grocery store without some sort of issue.  Stuff just happens.  Conveyor belts jam.  There is an inexplicable bottleneck in the spinach section.  Children suddenly take possession of all the carts and begin ramming everything in sight.  One night, when I stopped at the market close to where I used to work in the evenings, I was even privileged to witness a game of butternut squash football.  Apparently the produce department staff are not as well supervised in the later hours of store operation.  

Stuff happens.  I accept it.  But I always think about the things I might say if I didn't have that nasty Censor Switch installed in my brain by my mom back in the formative years.  Here are some of the thoughts I had today:

To The Loving Couple:

Your love is a beautiful thing.  I can see in your eyes the years you've spent together and the many more you have yet to travel together along this crazy road we call Life.  I can tell that you are on vacation and that this little side trip to the store is just one more magical place for you to spend time in each other's company.  However, I need some chips.  I have been diligently and virtuously working out this week in what can only be called Ungodly Heat And Humidity and I feel that some nice cheddar/soy chips are my due.  If you could maybe find someplace else to stare into one another's eyes and lovingly brush the errant hairs from one another's brows, that'd be keen.  The soy chip aisle is not appropriate for this.  I presume you have rented a room somewhere around here.  Go there.

To The Delivery Staff Who Who Wait In Their Trucks Until I Arrive Then Rush In To Begin Stocking The Shelves:

You blocked my access to the Diet Mountain Dew.  No more needs to be said on this matter.  I think we understand each other.

To Those Guys Holding The Wires And Standing On Top Of The Freezers Looking Confused:

First, please tell me that you didn't do anything to mess up my frozen pepperoni pizza.  It is one of the few things I will eat and, without it, I shall surely starve.  Whatever you were doing up there, I sincerely hope that it did not involve the safety and bacterial content of my foodstuffs.  Secondly, please stop dropping wire bits on my head.  Not cool.

To The Happy, Peppy Pre-Teen Practicing Cheers:

You are fooling no one.  Real cheerleaders do not practice their cheers in the grocery store.  Especially not when shopping with their dads.  You are a cheering wannabe.  I know this because I used to practice cheers in the grocery store back when I was more on the happy/peppy end of the life spectrum.  Sort of.  I suppose I was never really all that happy/peppy.  I guess that's why I didn't make the cheering cut.  I'm certain it didn't have anything to do with my utter lack of coordination and fear of heights.

To Our Canadian Guest Who Was Pulling His Screaming Child From The Liquor Shelves:

Have you really thought this one through?  I mean, I hate to state the obvious, but alcohol is known to be a depressant and I've seen lots of people just nod off after a nip or two.  I'm just saying...

To The Checkout Lady Who Was Very Nice And Really Wanted To Be Efficient:

The speed with which you cashed me out was pretty impressive.  I could tell that you were really proud of yourself.  I almost didn't tell you that you had only scanned half my groceries before tallying the final cost for me.  It broke my heart to have to point it out...but the frozen pepperoni pizza was in that forgotten pile of grocery goods and I just couldn't leave it behind.  Your apologies over the whole thing were very kind, though.  You maybe could have stopped after the third heartfelt expression of self-loathing, but I know that you meant well.  

What can I say?  I had lots of Loving/Peppy/Shelf-Blocking/Wire-Dropping/Screaming/Checking-Out-Twice time to thing about this sort of stuff.  

Aw, heck.  I'm probably just grumpy.  I blame the knitting.  I'm not admitting to anything but there may or may not have been a circular thing being knit over the past couple of days.  It probably wasn't yet another attempt at a sweater because I have been living under a Blog Sweater Curse since opening up shop here at Sheepish Annie's and would not be seduced into that nightmare again, right?  But, if I were to be knitting a largish thing on circular needles it probably wouldn't surprise anyone to know that I found a hole in it last night.  Or that I couldn't for the life of me figure out what had happened and could only assume that I had knit something sideways.  Which is impossible, but it was the best I could come up with.  At least it was the best I could come up with until I realized that the bottom ribbing of the not-sweater was wider on one side than the other.  And figured out that I had set it down, picked it up and then, in full defiance of my years of knitting experience, proceeded to knit backwards for a row.  

It is entirely possible I did this more than once.  It's the same amount of fictional sweater ripping either way, I suppose.  Sort of.  All of it equals all of it when you are ticked off and quite grumpy.  Grumpy feels good to me.  It's familiar.  It has served me well.

Except for the whole cheerleading thing.

SA

Wednesday And Side Dish

Welcome to Wednesday night at Sheepish Annie's!  It's the home of The Wednesday Night Bullet Post and a time when we can just all sit back while we enjoy the random.  Here's what's been going on since last we met:

*I got up bright and early this morning and did the first half of the last workout of the week before the heat 'n humidity hit too hard.

*Aren't I just the diligent little worker bee?  I believe you might even call me virtuous.  

*Then, in an ongoing attempt to pretend that I have really been a healthy sort of person for the first half of my life, I headed out to the local Farmer's Market.

*I'll just give you a minute to recover from that.  I know that it is a little shocking to think of me strolling amongst the vegetable matter...  

*The pickings were slim, if you'll excuse the metaphor.  The midweek version of this affair isn't really all that much of a money-maker for the vendors.  But I'd rather go on a Wednesday and have less from which to choose than go on Saturday when there are fifty million other people there.

*As it was, I had to stand for five minutes waiting to pay for my meager purchases while a rather gaunt looking woman extolled the virtues of her gluten-free, no carb, all-leaves-all-the-time diet.  She said she'd never felt better.

*I had my cell phone out just in case she needed an ambulance.  She did not look well.  Not well at all.

*I didn't get much.  But I found some rather tasty looking 'taters alongside some brand new baby garlic.  There's this one local farm that puts out a mighty fine head 'o garlic.  

*And I'll just bet that they never, ever find themselves infested with vampires.

*The next stop on my Tour Of Virtuous Behavior was the bookstore.  I didn't really need to go to the bookstore.  But they are one of those independent, employee-owned stores and it is always good to support those.

*Did I mention my incredible virtue?  

*Virtue outweighs the fact that we didn't really need anything at the bookstore.  

*Besides, is there really but one definition of 'need?'  The whole concept is really open to interpretation if you ask me.

You do what you have to in order that the local merchants feel the love.

*As it was already fairly toasty in here come dinner time, it didn't seem like it would make a huge difference if I fired up the oven and roasted some garlic, potato and onion for dinner.  Then I sprinkled the whole crusty affair with some fresh herbs.  I finished the it off with a liberal dusting of fresh, grated Parmesan.

*I don't think I will admit to you just how much I wanted to douse the whole thing in ketchup.  That doesn't make me seem like a gourmet or one who is virtuous with the vegetables.

*Although there are some who consider anything made from a vegetable to be a vegetable.  

*The lights just flickered.  We may be having a power issue in the near future.  Thunderstorms can be tricky for the virtuous blogger/vegetable eater.

*I didn't knit much today because of the heat.  But I read a little from the new knitting book and this counts as knitterly behavior.  

*It's the best I can do.  It is still kind of hot up here.

*Obligatory Cute Cat Picture:

*Tomorrow is supposed to be much cooler and maybe I can knit something for you.  Or actually touch wool without sticking to it.

*Photographing the garlic and potatoes was a little tricky.  Kitties can't have garlic.  I needed to distract them.  Fortunately, I also went to The Greenies Store (aka the pet store) today as it's right next to the Farmer's Market.  That took care of the Big, Fluffy Kitty.  But Absurdly Gi-normous Kitties do not like Greenies.  

*This had me stumped for a while.

*But, after seeing my handsome boy's reaction to the freeze dried turkey that the vet gave him, I thought I might be able to come up with something.

*I did.  He really likes these.  The photo shoot was carried out without harm to garlic sniffing kitties as everyone was happily distracted.

*Although there was a minor scuffle over dining territory.  We are still working on the kitty love around here.

Hmm...it seems that the rains have decided to come down in a more aggressive manner.  As much as I am enjoying the drop in temperature, I am not sure that this is the best time to be hanging out on a computer.  Hence, I shall wish you a pleasant Wednesday and remind you all to eat your vegetables.

Don't you want to grow up to be strong and virtuous like Auntie Sheepie?

SA

Socks at S.O.C.K.S

There are lots of good things about my self-designed program for improving my ability to interact with the rest of the human race, commonly known as The Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization.  The S.O.C.K.S program affords poorly socialized knitters such as myself the opportunity to get out and knit amongst others of my kind while practicing the art of making eye contact and acceptable conversation.  This is a very healthy thing for an awkward, hermit-y lady such as myself.  And I like to think I've made great progress in my social behavior over the last two summers during which I've participated in this program.  I don't even think about picking my nose or telling everyone about my cat's every behavior (including litter box tendencies).  

Well...maybe I think about it.  But I don't do it.  Much.

There are other benefits as well.  I get to see what others are knitting, see all sorts of pretty new yarns and discuss new and innovative ways to correct boo-boos.  There was also cake.  Cake should probably not rank up there with the other, more important, aspects of S.O.C.K.S, I suppose.  But I really do like cake so it is a nice perk.

But today, I found an even better reason to attend my weekly session of socialization therapy.  Climate control.  The Yarn Sellar is air conditioned.  After a day spent in my second floor sweat box, with the living room temperature holding at a steady 'oh-my-god-this-is-crazy,' I found the hour long trip in the air conditioned car, followed by the two hours spent in the cool breezes of the yarn shop to be nothing short of a delight.  

And there was cake.  I may have already mentioned that...but it bears repeating.  This is the second week in a row we've had cake.  I like this trend.  

I do not bother installing the air conditioning here anymore.  I know that is a statement which utterly flummoxes people, especially given the amount of time I spend complaining about the heat.  But, I swear to you, there are several very good reasons why I do not hoist that three thousand pound behemoth into the window these days.  One of those reasons is that I do not particularly enjoy that clicking sound I hear in my back when I try to do it.  Others are logistical and relate to the structure of the building in which I live.  When the temperatures soar, I just remind myself that there are really only about ten days out of three hundred and sixty five that are really so hot that conditioned air is desired.  Besides, come winter, I rather like all that rising heat so thoughtfully provided by my downstairs neighbors who are living life right on a slab of carpeted concrete and who are cranking up the thermostat to compensate.  You would cry if you knew how low my heating bills are...

This was not exactly a comforting thought today, though.  I'd say it was 'cold comfort,' but there was nothing remotely cold about this day so I can't see how that would relate to the topic.  

One more day of humidity and we will be back to more pleasant temperatures for the second half of the week.  Meanwhile, I'll keep the fans a-humming and the Mountain Dew supply stocked.  I'm sure I'll survive and maybe even sweat out all sorts of nasty toxins while I'm at it.

Heck, maybe I'll even sweat off a pound or two...

Did I mention that there has been cake at Knit Night?

SA

Sweating For My Own Good

There's this cable show I like to watch.  You probably know it.  It's the one where this woman owns a big gym and it features her antics, as well as that of her trainers.  Fine entertainment.  Not only do we get to see all the drama 'n trauma (in somewhat scripted and edited form, anyway) but we also are able to see her training style.  She is a Boot Camp kind of trainer and works her clients pretty hard.  Hard enough to drop.  And vomit.  She always seems a little surprised when one of them just gives up or develops an attitude of hatred towards her.  It's like she's never heard of the whole 'more flies with honey than vinegar or vomiting' theory.

I'm pretty sure she'd hate me, though.  At least she'd be pretty horrified by my theories on exercise.

I've struggled with my fitness routine over the years and was never really able to maintain a rigorous kind of schedule with it due to my not liking to be in pain.  Or vomiting.  I finally got to a place where I realized that it would be better for me to have a workout routine I'd stick to rather than one that meets with the approval of the fitness gurus.  They like working out.  They find it appealing.  They like the outfits and the rush of endorphins.  I do not.  I like cookies.  I like naps.  I like watching television.  

Hence, the Knitting While Pedaling The Little Exercise Bike program was born.  It has served me well for years now.  In addition, I know that my trying to do more than three days per week will also lead me down the path of failure.  I need to get it all done by Wednesday.  

Seriously.  The Vomit Workout Lady would just spit on me if she saw me in the street.  I don't blame her.  I kind of want to spit on her every time I see her abs.  Amazing...

As much as I like this workout (which I follow with a short weight lifting routine) it does not work in the summer.  Ever.  I hate investing the time during the summer.  I'd rather be devoting my time to being on vacation.  Plus, it is wicked hot and who likes to work out when it's hot?  Frankly, I think that's the worst of it.  It is humid and gross and it makes it rather easy to just tell myself to forget the whole thing because it is not healthy for me to work out in such horrible heat.

I can just hear what The Vomit Workout Lady would say about that!  She does not tolerate excuses.  I'm certain that such wishy-washy behavior would earn me a smack to the head backed up by her ridiculously toned biceps.

Every June, the whole thing falls apart on me.  This year, I decided to devote the summer months to weight training.  It's a change of pace and I can break the whole nightmarish thing that I hate so very, very much into two shorter sessions throughout the day.  Come September when work resumes, I'll go back to the cardio.  Ideal?  No.  But, again, better than nothing if I can stick with it.  And I have.  

Take that, Vomit Workout Lady!

The drawbacks?  Well, I can't lift weights and knit at the same time.  That's a downer.  But I'm on vacation so I suppose there is all sorts of knitting time available to me that I don't have during the cooler months.  That makes up for it.  I'm good.

Now if someone could just do something about the heat and humidity, that'd be super.  I'm certain that The Vomit Workout Lady would have some pearls of wisdom for me on this one, but I'm afraid to ask.  Like I said, she probably wouldn't be too thrilled about my whole approach to begin with.  I don't think I'd get much in the way of sympathy.  I'd most likely end up vomiting just to please her...

I didn't get to knit today even without the little bike.  It was too hot.  Hrumph...

And for those of you who have come to think of this as The Prometheus Channel, look to the blog for more interesting news on the daily escapades of my handsome boy and get a little bit cranky when I fail to provide this, here's some news just for you:

It seems that Absurdly Gi-normous Kitties really like tuna fish.  The like it a lot.  They will go to great lengths to make their owners understand this.  They will debase themselves and come perilously close to inflicting bodily harm upon She Who Wields The Can Opener.  Tuna fish is simply intoxicating to Absurdly Gi-normous Kitties.

And, apparently, I am the type of cat owner who can be pretty easily convinced to part with tuna bits in order to make the yowling, counter hopping and threats of violence stop.  Plus it was really hot today and I didn't feel like arguing.  Who knew?

Dat Tooter Fishies Makes Me Smiiiiiiile!!!

SA

Boy Oh Boy!

It's sort of a shame about my hating the zombies like I do.  I find them horribly distasteful and would dispatch one in a heartbeat if it showed up at my door looking for directions or a cup of human flesh.  But today, I found a little sympathy.  For, you see, I sort of am one right now.

Sure, I started on the second sock.  I spun more than even I thought I was capable of.  Heck, I even broke out the drum carder and blended two more batts of shetland and silk so that I could have more of the fluffy stuff with which to work.  But I did it all with lots of shuffling and moaning.  There was a definite lack of attention to detail and my eyes have that baggy, droopy zombie look about them.  I also didn't take a shower so I probably have a slight aroma of the living dead about me at this point as well...

I am tired.  So.  Very.  Tired.  It's taken me half the day to really start to see a pattern in my new roommate's lifestyle.  But I think I'm beginning to get a handle on it.  The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty is clearly a party boy, perhaps reincarnated from the wild days of the 70's.  He likes his Saturday nights and he likes them on the crazy side.  The Big, Fluffy Kitty and I are a bit more sedentary at this point.  We are the resident Maiden Ladies Who Are Kind Of Like That Old Auntie Your Mother Made You Visit At Christmas And Who Gave You A Nice Crisp Dollar Bill On Your Birthday.  (even when you were well past the age where a dollar was going to help matters in the slightest)  

So, while the BFK and I toddle off to bed, the AGK is just getting started.  We did our best to simply hunker down and ignore what was happening in other parts of the manse.  But it was impossible.  Furniture was being rearranged for his dancing pleasure.  I distinctly heard a drawer opening.  At 3:30 this morning, a few adventurous birds began to sing drunkenly in an effort to join the party and that was it for our being able to stay in bed.  The AGK was racing merrily about in order to find the twittering revelers and his path occasionally involved traversing the bed in which we were huddled.

I got up.  There was little else I could do.  And, predictably, this signaled the end of the festivities.  Prometheus greeted me happily with a trill and a nuzzle, then settled down for the "night."  

The BFK left for parts unknown and I did not see her again until full light.  I have every reason to believe she was calling some sort of authority to report my inability to provide her with a safe home.

He's young.  It's what the young folks do these days, I suppose.  But I think it's more than that.  The BFK used to be pretty frisky in her younger days...but her antics pale in comparison.  To be fair, she did not confine them to one night per week and that was trying.  But she did not move furniture.  I think there is more to this.  I think there may be gender issues involved.  I submit for your consideration this hypothesis:

Boys are different than girls.

I could be wrong.  It could just be that I am a bad parent who has an untamed wild child on my hands.  Maybe I just need to take a class or something.  I dunno.  I'm tired.  But I do have one little piece of evidence to submit.  It is really only the first of the data and I'm certain I shall need much more if I am going to win the Nobel for this one.  But it is a start.  I've also managed to keep the testing conditions pretty similar.  The variables, while not completely within my control, have been managed to the best of my ability.  

The first step in the process is to set down a pillow.  The second is to forget that you put it there.  The third is to realize that you must now leave that pillow there for all eternity.  Then you watch.  

First, we have an aerial view of a sweet little girl kitty:

She rests upon the pillow like a sweet little bon bon.  You could put that on a Christmas card.

Next, we have an aerial view of a rambunctious boy kitty resting upon the same pillow:

This is not the Christmas card you want to send to that maiden auntie I was mentioning earlier.  You won't be getting your yearly dollar.

Maybe it's just that he is all tuckered out from the non-stop partying.  It could also be the fact that there is a fan in the window just above and that the breezes across the belly are simply too tempting to resist.  Or perhaps (and this is probably the case) I am just so very tired and seeing potential research studies where none exist.  I should maybe sleep on this one.  Saturday night is past us and, if the pattern holds true, tonight will be a restful one for everybody.  

And he is, after all, a rather charming boy.  Endearing, really.  And quite handsome.  I can get used to living with a boy after all these years of running a girl's club.  I mean, it could be worse.

He's OK with the idea of taking baths.  A stinky boy would be a very bad thing...

SA

Thoughts Both Fore And Aft

I think lots and lots.  I am on vacation so I have the time.  I nap a lot too, but this isn't a napping post.  It is a thinking post.  We'll leave the naps for another time.  

For example, I have been thinking about spinning lately.  Knitting is good and all...but I really seem to be thinking a lot about spinning these days.  I don't always act on my thoughts, but this time I did.   

See?

This is the Shetland Lamb that Cathy sent me last summer and which I have let marinate for a while.  And, when I say, "marinate," I actually mean that it was so very soft and pretty that I was afraid to touch it for fear I would massacre it.  But, what with all the thinking and stuff, I decided to give it a go.  

The thinking has led me to a deep kind of understanding.  This is not going to be the finest yarn I've ever spun.  It is not going to be the second finest.  Or the thirty-fifth.  That said, I have come to realize that I love it.  I haven't spun with yarn I've processed right from the fleece for a long time.  As much as I enjoy going from the beginning to the end with the wool, I sometimes get impatient.  And the prep work is what makes the final product, after all.  If I'm going to whisk it off to the wheel before it's really ready, I'm going to have to learn to love the floofy bits that don't want to spin happily.  

I'm counting on the acts of plying and knitting, combined with the overall beauty of the wool itself to make up for my lack of attention to detail.

As I was driving my less than happy self to the lab the other day for my various screenings and squishings, I got to thinking about the socks I've been knitting.  I was worried.  I've never done an Afterthought Heel.  Things could go horribly awry.  They often do when I am knitting strange and foreign things, after all.  And the decreasing!  What if I can't tell how far to go before toe shaping needs to happen?  Will I have an elf sock?  Worse, will I have a gigantically mutated sort of sock?  But what was I to do?  The Afterthought Heel comes after.  That is the whole point...

Thinking about this sort of stuff is what I did in order to avoid dwelling on the fact that I was running late and that I didn't want to get a mammogram in the first place.

I had a bit of an epiphany as I was motoring down the Maine Turnpike.  An Afterthought Heel could really be done at any point once you've knit a bit past the place where you put in the waste yarn.  I could just pop that bad boy in place and there would be a nice little reference point for foot shaping!

Yay for thinking!

Then I forgot about the whole thing in all the excitement of the holiday and whatnot.  Today, however, I recalled my flights of fancy and took up my sock with great hope for the future.  To ensure quality knitting time, I decided to work on my footwear while watching The Evil Dead trilogy in reverse order.  I thought about that, too.  Reverse order makes no sense whatsoever, but I've never watched them backwards before and I like the first one better than the last so I figured it would give me something to look forward to.  

It made sense while I was thinking about it, anyway...

And, with all that thinking and reverse movie watching going on, I finished a sock!  It is not without issues.  A great, gaping hole appeared when I picked up the heel stitches and later surgery was required.  A stitch was dropped somewhere and fudging (along with some rather foul language) was employed.  Finally, when all was said and done, the Afterthought Heel verdict was in.  I guess the kindest thing you can say is that it is "inelegant, but functional."  It creates a perfectly serviceable heel, but not one that fits my foot quite as nicely as one with some flappage.  I'll do it again.  It's an easy way to make a sock happen fast.  Plus, I still have to knit a second one if I want a pair of these.  But I don't think it will ever replace a heel flapped kind of sock for me.

The model I employed for the blog picture is new so I ask your understanding regarding the quality of the photo.  He hasn't thought about this kind of stuff as much as I have.  I probably should have coached him a bit more before the shoot and perhaps practiced a bit.

Maybe then he wouldn't have tried to hug it.  It took me ten minutes to get it away from him.  I thought I was going to lose a finger for a minute there...

Tomorrow I am thinking about doing some more blending with the Shetland and see if I can't get another basketful ready for spinning.  We'll see.  The weather promises to be rather humid and that often does not inspire me to break out the drum carder.  If not, I suppose I can always resort to that napping plan which has served me so well...  Time will tell.

Oh, and this last photo?  I post it because it pleases me to do so.  No thought went into this whatsoever.  

Maybe it's just revenge for the botched photo shoot...

SA

It's Not Just Friday, You Know...

SA

If I Wrote A Letter...

I am not a letter-writing sort of person.  You know the type I mean.  There are people out there who like to write letters to various agencies, companies and entities in an effort to bring certain matters to their attention or maybe to offer a little constructive criticism.  I am not a letter writer...but I think about the letters I might write were I so inclined.  

For example, if I were to scribble off a helpful missive to the nice people at The Women's Center For Poking, Prodding And General Invasiveness, I might include these sorts of things:

*Your facility is lovely.  And the parking?  Well that is just superb!  However, I might suggest a little more in the way of signage.  Outside, you've done remarkably well.  Inside seems to be another story.  I am certain that combining the offices of Girly Stuff and MRI Stuff was a practical decision.  But it couldn't hurt to make a note lest you have a hapless patient such as myself wandering around in areas where I probably shouldn't be in search of a reception desk.  I am apparently incapable of realizing that the one desk at the front serves both functions.

*It may also be helpful if you had volunteers manning this desk who were not reading novels with women heaving their bosoms all over the place on the covers.  Even when I did manage to locate the highly visible and yet grossly mislabeled desk, I had to wait until a chapter was finished.  However, the reader/greeter was so apologetic and sweet about the whole thing that I really couldn't be mad at her.  Plus it did sort of look like a good book...

*Your intake specialists are amazing and competent beyond anything I had a right to expect.  I might suggest, however, that you ask her to refrain from labeling her pens.  I could understand if she needed to put a tag on there that read:  Bertha's Pen...do not steal!  I am a rather notorious pen snatcher.  I don't mean to be.  Yet I always seem to be strolling off with them.  However, putting a label on a pen that says, "PEN (happy face)" implies that your staff cannot identify their office supplies.  There are many, many office supplies in the intake office.  And they were all used rather skillfully.  But, I just couldn't seem to get past that whole deal with the hand lettered pen name tag.

*I really hate to admit this.  But I feel how I feel.  I can't help but think that The Women's Center should be a No Boys Allowed Zone.  Having the MRI services in there makes this impossible and greatly interferes with my vision of the place as a sort of clubhouse for just us gals.  The men should have to wait in the car and listen to baseball, spit or do whatever it is that boys do when left to their own devices.  There should be an air of mystery about the place.  And an alarm that goes off whenever a boy tries to come in which results in his being whisked away by armed guards, never to be seen again.

(For the record, I later rethought this one.  They do lots of procedures there and I suppose there are women who would like the comforting presence of a spouse or buddy of the boy persuasion.  But, c'mon.  You can see how I might think it was wicked cool to have our own Girl Cave.  It is also entirely possible that I am being influenced by the inclusion of a boy in my own formerly all-girl-all-the-time home.  Boys are different and confusing.)

We are continuing to have exposure issues and no amount of explaining the joys of modesty is having any effect whatsoever.

*Your waiting area is beautiful.  The coffee smelled just amazing!  I especially liked the part where the sweet older lady with the accent that makes me want to just pack up and travel to wherever she may have spent her formative years comes around with that cart.  And she was offering us all treats!  Oh happiest of days!  Snacks while we wait!  Then she broke my heart (in her fetching accent) by telling me that they were only for the people who weren't patients.  Then I was sad.

*I realize that many of the issues which are considered to be feminine in nature are really those which cross gender.  I don't mean to be sexist.  However, I can't help but think that the technician who came out to get me for my bone density screening and mammogram was not playing the odds very well when she called for, "Mr. Sheep."  

*I would also suggest that you find another term for use on your Schedule Of Procedures form.  To call it a "routing slip" and have me present it to the staff  makes me feel like a package.  I just know that there is a routing number out there somewhere and that anyone can log on and see just where I am in the process.

*You should give some serious thought to giving the bone screener a raise, by the way.  Her willingness to express disbelief when I gave her my weight was rather kind.  I'm not sure how I felt about having to get on the scale to prove it, though.  The day before a holiday is not one where you want your weight confirmed.  But it was still nice of her to doubt me and assume it was less.  

*If you need the name of a good Velcro supplier, please feel free to contact me.  I'd be happy to hook you up.  Because I know what it's like to be unhooked.  Velcro that actually sticks to itself is rather key if you are going to keep your little gown closed while strolling the halls of The Women's Center Which Is Also The MRI Place And Full Of Boys.  

*The switch to digital mammography is probably a good one, even if it means I can no longer go to the satellite office that is really close to my home.  But could you have maybe thought to bring over the nice mammogram lady?  You know the one...the really gentle woman?  I like her.  Not to put down The Mammonator that you have working in the new location.  I'm certain that she is a delight in other situations.  And I sort of don't want her knowing that I complained...you have my address on file.  

(The less said the better on this, I suppose.  I shall simply say that, three minutes in, I was willing to share my name, rank, serial number, my invitation to The French Resistance Christmas Party and the location of the Bat Cave.)

*All in all, though, your facility is just wonderful.  I was generally pleased by the speed of service and the staff's overall demeanor.  Most appreciated was the little bit of wait time you allowed me.  It was just enough to do a round or two of sock knitting.  And, even if it wasn't, the nice technicians were more than willing to wait for me to finish up a needle's worth of stitches.  Kudos to you for training them so well in the art of Waiting Room Accommodation.  

That's the kind of stuff I'd probably put in my letter if I were that type of person.  Or if I could lift my right arm.  Which I can't do as effectively as I used to right now.  What with the twisting and contortions followed by the not-so-gentle ministrations of The Mammonator, I am a little bit lame at the moment.

And I didn't even get any snacks.  Or a pen.

SA

It's Random And We Like It!

Another Wednesday is upon us and it is time for the Wednesday Night Bullet Post.  There were a few concerns expressed in the comments yesterday regarding the lack of kitty pictures.  As I am one of those Eager To Please types, let me see if I can scatter a few in tonight for your viewing pleasure.  I may have one or two shots of the resident felines...

*It seems that the tourists have arrived.  I was wondering if they were planning on coming this year.

*They were.  They were just delayed what with having to save up the gas money and all.  Today, they landed.

*They landed at the grocery store, if you want me to be really specific about it.  There were also one or two sitting at the traffic light just before you get to the grocery store.  I am assuming, given their not moving when the light turned green,  that they are just overwhelmed with the joy of finally getting here.

*I wanted to tell them that they were wasting gas just sitting there, but I didn't have the nerve to actually do it.

*I started a shawl today.  

*That's a lie.  I started it two days ago.  But today was the day I ripped it and had to start over.

*I did a pretty amazing job on the garter stitch border.  It was perfection!

*It was that first row in the lace pattern that got me.  The first, freakin' row...

*It's for the best.  I really should have done a knitted cast on in the first place.  I'm thinking that this was the Universe's way of pointing that out.

*The reason I went to the grocery store today was so I wouldn't have to go out tomorrow and could just stay home, maybe bake the bread for Friday's Fourth Of July lunch.  I thought that having a day to just stay in and be all house-wifey would be rather nice.

*I forgot.  There's that whole Joys Of Middle Aged Womanhood thing to deal with.

*Mammogram and bone density testing.  I still haven't heard back about the vitamin D test.  

*I'm assuming that no news is good news and that I am chock full of the D.

*I probably shouldn't assume...it isn't the first time my doctor's office forgot to tell me something.

*To date, she's forgotten that I was taking blood pressure medicine, to call and let me know that I had pneumonia and she couldn't, for the life of her, understand why I was asking to have another bone density test.

*She forgot that I have Osteopenia.  And early onset menopause.  

*She did not forget that I was due for the stupid mammogram, though.  We are the same age and due for them at the same time...

*They have recently switched over to digital mammography in my area.  Which means that there is a 236% chance I will have to have it redone.  Comparing the digital view to the old stuff always seems to result in them "seeing something."

*The doc remembered to tell me not to be overly concerned when I get that call.

*I am now back to row 2 of the garter stitch border on the stupid shawl.

*I guess I could bring that with me to the Women's Center as a waiting room project.  I can knit garter stitch pretty handily under most circumstances.

*Even while wearing a hospital gown.

*I did not knit on the sock today.  That is a waiting room contender, too...

*Hey, did anyone else see the advertisement for the X-Files movie?  I did not know about this!

*Can I get a SQUEEEEEEEEE?  

*I'm a geek.  I admit it.  I actually purchased my second cell phone because it looked like the one Scully used.  

*When I answered it, I would simply say, "Scully."  You know...like I was really her and answering my phone all FBI-ish, terse and professional-like? 

*Geek.  Very, very big geek.

Happy Wednesday, Folks!  The mid-week is now past us and there is naught but mammograms and weekend television in our futures!  In celebration, I leave you with this last shot:

I Can Haz Hed Skritches?!

SA

On? Off? Somewhere In The Middle?

Lately, it has seemed that every Tuesday has brought rain.  More specifically, it feels like that rain has been timed to coincide with my trip to The Yarn Sellar each week.

Summer is upon me and, without that pesky job to interfere, I can fully immerse myself in my reintroduction to the rest of the human race.  Given half a chance, I'd surely hide myself away and knit in solitude until the end of time.  Or I run out of yarn.  So I have developed the Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization (S.O.C.K.S) program to help ensure that I don't forget how to interact with others.  It is good for me to go knit with the other people every Tuesday night.

And, true to form, it rained like crazy this evening just as I left the house.  Big rain.  Driving rain.  With lots of forky lightening.  It seems that my Knit Night is destined to come with a side of Armageddon.  The S.O.C.K.S program is very important to my overall mental health, though.  I forged ahead.

Rain makes this very difficult.  For I suffer with a little known condition that causes me great distress while navigating through the rain drops.  Interval Wiper Execution and Indecisive Reaction Disorder or, as it is now being referred to in the literature, IWEIRD, is characterized by an inability to settle on the most beneficial setting for the windshield wipers and a tendency to fiddle with them incessantly during precipitation.  Too fast a wiper pace and you get that horrible screeching sound, too little and you sort of can't see.  The latter only compounds the problem as the driver is only half paying attention anyway due to all the knob fiddling.  To make matters worse, should the IWEIRD victim actually hit upon that magical ratio of wiper to rain drops, the weather doesn't always cooperate.  Sometimes the rain pattern will change.  Not that it really matters because another symptom of this horrible disease is that the sufferer will be rendered completely incapable of believing that she has a working wiper rhythm in place and will continue to twist the knobs in an effort to make it just a little bit better.

The funding for IWEIRD research is pathetic.  It isn't one of those really cool or sexy diseases that gets all the good press.  Hence, people such as myself must try and find a way to live in this world, always knowing that we may, one day, have to drive in the rain.  We spend a great deal of time watching the weather channel.  

Don't pity me.  I am strong and can bear this weight.  Plus, I was able to make it down to Chicks With Sticks without incident so it all worked out.  I knit me up a whole lotta new sock.  At this rate, I might even get a pair done by summer's end!  See?  I have found a way to overcome adversity!  

Now I have to go check the forecast for Friday.  It's Independence Day and I have to drive to my parents house for the holiday.  Let's all hope for the best...

(Note to Noolie:  See? I got through the whole thing without once mentioning the china...)

SA