Hats of Shame (feelin' crabby)

Laura beat me in our Shed-along by nearly a week.

However, I have an excuse explanation - when I should have been working on my Shedir, I was being thoroughly amused that a teal sock could emerge from a bright lime green ball,

and finishing the second Sock Ness Monster

(there are ends that need weaving, and eyes that need sewing, but let's count that as done, shall we?)

I was also spinning up this Tencel/Wool

into this four-ply thickish (I'll use a 2.75 mm needle) sock yarn,

and getting started on a toe,

I got started on this spinning


and on this sock, which is ticking me off.

It's that horrible new Tofutsies sock yarn that everybody's so crazy about, except that they all forget to mention that the yarn is crap. It has NO stretch, it's super splitty, and none of the colors I've seen allow for any pattern at all. And what makes me the most crabby about it is the darn thing feels so nice for a summer sock, and this magenta is so gorgeous, I may actually buy another ball...

But I did finally finish my Shedir (link is PDF) out of my handspun. I got distracted and did an extra repeat of the cable (what can I say? The Sheepman was on - romance, comedy, western, and baby sheepies... who can count knitting then?) so the hat is a little longer than I'd like. But with the cuff folded up, it'll do. (until I rip it down to that last repeat and fix it, which may happen eventually)

A winter hat looks a little odd among those spring weeds, doesn't it?
How's this shot on the woodpile:


My reward for finishing the Shedir, or for being an all around wonderful person in general, I'm not sure which, was this gorgeous bag from Sarah. Here's a closeup of the fabrics she chose

and proof that neither it, nor its contents, contain explosives, as verified by the family bomb-cat.


That very same family bomb cat claims he's inspecting the dog's bowl for explosives, but I don't believe it.

The little sneak steals food from the pitbull. Some people have no shame.

It's raining, it's pouring....

Anyone interested in a slightly muddy, slightly more constipated pitbull? Very affectionate, particularly when wet.

Oscar has decided he's afraid of rain. Everytime he's asked to go out today, the scenario has been this:


Door opens.

Dog backs up in terror, as sky appears to be falling in giant, wet, clumps.

Mommy makes dog go outside.

Dog refuses to move farther than three feet from Mommy, because that's the distance at which the giant wet sky-clumps will kill you.

Mommy coos "please go potty, baby, mommy is cold."

Dog looks very apologetic, but does not go potty.

Mommy grows cranky at standing in the ankle deep mudflow that is her yard and begs some more.

Dog is very, very, very sorry, but knows dogs are weakest when going potty, and that's just what the giant wet sky-clumps are waiting for.

Mommy's hair is now standing on end (yet attractively humidity-caused curly, because mommy's hair likes to screw with her) and mommy is shivering.

Dog is still very, very sorry, and still not going potty.

Giant wet sky-clumps take a fifteen second break.

Dog remembers that he is a four year old boy, runs ten feet away from mommy with more glee than you'd think you could fit into a package that size, turns around, skidding through the mud, bounds back to mommy, saving the biggest jump for the landing right in front of mommy, spattering them both from head to toe (ruining the effect of mommy's pretty humidity-caused curls).

Just then, giant wet sky-clumps remember what fun they'd been having previously and strike up the band once again.

Doggy runs in fear, still having not gone to potty.

Damp, muddy Mommy weeps in corner.

Oscar says...

"See? It's not the pitbull, it's the OWNERS you have to watch out for!"






Does anyone really think if it had been Catherine who bit someone, the headline would have read "Yorkie Owner Bites Policeman"? (Does anyone think if Catherine had bit someone, there would have been a sub-headline of "but the idiot really deserved it"?)



HAPPY EASTER/PASSOVER/NON-DESCRIPT WEEKEND IN APRIL, EVERYONE!

because easy is for wimps

Today is April 1, the official beginning of my participation in Catherine's unofficial Walk-a-go-go. The goal - walk 100 miles by July 4. And for someone in my current searching-for-the-answers medical condition, that's really pushing things. But Catherine's head exploded last month, so if she can do it, so can I.

Except.

Never one to do things the easy way (this typed by a woman who dislocated her knee, simultaneously shredding the ligaments nearby, while doing a cartwheel. And not on the landing, but while the aforementioned knee was upside-down, in the air, having pressure put on it by absolutely nothing.) I seem to have seriously injured my foot.

Well, I blame Trevor, mostly because he's in the other room and isn't defending himself. But I woke up last week with foot pain, and assumed he'd slept on my foot funny. But it didn't get better. And while my doctor thinks it's funny that we suspect my cat may have broken my foot by sleeping on it (I didn't show him the little cat-foot sized bruises all over my body) he did take an X-ray. Nothing showed up there, so we're thinking it's more likely a tendon sprain. And it was much better yesterday, but then I foolishly walked around the hovel this morning (the butler is away for... you know, ever... and I needed food) and hit a bump in the floor, stepped wrong, and am in serious pain again.

Which of course causes my three little furry guys to flock around my ankles "protecting me", making a five step walk across the room more dangerous than your average minefield, assuming the mines don't actively swat at each other as you're walking through.

But I'm still gonna go for it, even if the start is a little slow. I'm just wondering if I can have Oscar do some of my miles by proxy...