To Catch A Smuppet

[For those of you not in “the know”, Smuppet is one of Elphie’s many nicknames. Her other nicknames include: Missy Moo, Puppet, Tiny Cujo, WRD, Muffin, Devil Dog, Smelphaba, Elphabutt. The list goes on and on.]

Elphie is normally a pretty good dog. She’s relatively obedient, and when we’re consistent about keeping the pack order, she follows the rules beautifully. But she has days where she likes to mess with me.

Once every few months, she’ll decide to take advantage of a slightly open door and go wandering. I’m usually carrying an armload of stuff, or in impossibly high heels. The stuff (or shoes) get abandoned, and I bolt out after her.

On the few occasions where Niki has gone a’wandering, we have a “shaker box”- a plastic container full of dog treats which we shake, and magically Niki reappears, sitting, as if nothing has transpired. But while he’s there, he gets a treat for sitting, right? Right.

Elphie is the opposite- not treat motivated at ALL. I can’t run after her- because chasing is a game, and she’s already begun play. Walking at a good clip, but doing “calm” breathing, and calling out to her softly, I have to come up slowly, reach for her S-L-O-W-L-Y, then grab her firmly by her scruff. At this point, I carry her home, squirming like a fiend.

Today, we had some firsts.

For the first time, I didn’t initially grab her scruff with authoritah.

For the first time, there was a car. I heard it coming, and so I got between Elphie and the car. During this “game”, Elphie runs away from me, and thus, away from the car. Crisis averted.

For the first time, Elphie crossed the street. Even though there wasn’t any traffic, I don’t like that she’s comfortable prancing across the street. Cars drive on the street. The sidewalk is safer, by comparison.

For the first time, once she had been grabbed with authoritah, she didn’t squirm while I carried her home.

Once we walked back into the house, Niki gave her corrections (by growling and biting her nose, butt, and scruff).

The whole ordeal took about five minutes- but a long five minutes. The day can only get better from here, right?

“My kingdom for a coat!”

A few nights ago, I was on the phone with Linda, waxing poetic about this beautiful coat I had tried on a few months back. I had decided, after trying it on and LOVING it, that I would wait until it went on sale. Because at Wilson’s, things always go on sale, and it’s usually a good sale.

I pulled up the website, and to my great surprise, my coat was ON SALE!

In XL. ONLY in XL.

This was good for Linda, who is busty enough to fill out an XL. On my best day, I can’t fill an XL. I told Andrew about it, and said that I would call the stores in the area to see if I could find one in a Small. I tried Oakridge, Gilroy, and Milpitas. No luck, only an Unpleasant Associate at the Milpitas store- who was supposedly in possession of my coat, in a Small.

When the Unpleasant Associate was on the phone with me, and I asked him to check his stock, he took thirty seconds and deemed- in an annoyed tone of voice- that my coat was never there. I wanted to speak with someone else, so I called back two hours later, and got the same guy. I gave Andrew the information about the coat, and the phone number.

Andrew had some success. He spoke with the Unpleasant Associate, who managed to find my coat at the Pleasanton store. Andrew called me to let me know that not only had he found my coat, but that he was going to drive up to Pleasanton to pick it up for me.

While I normally would have responded with a “Sweet!”, I knew exactly how long his day had ALREADY been. I said, “I’ll go and get it, that way you’re not driving all night.” I called Cynthia, and she joined me for the jaunt out to Pleasanton.

The fates were with us, we were parked just outside where the Wilson’s was, and there was my beautiful coat, in my size. Choirs of angels rejoiced as I paid for my beautiful treasure. As I was paying, the Very Helpful Manager pointed out that there was another coat in my size- in white. On hold until 9 PM. She was fairly certain that the customer wasn’t coming to get it- it was already about 8PM at this point, and they close at 9PM.

We made a swing through the mall, bought some necessary stuff, and headed back. During this jaunt, Jasmin 2007 and Jasmin 2008 had a necessary discussion.

J2007: I should buy the pretty white coat. It’s my dream coat.

J2008: I bought the black coat. That’s the dream coat. I don’t think I could keep a white coat clean for five minutes.

J2007: I don’t give myself enough credit. I am a competent adult. I could keep a white coat clean.

J2008: I don’t need-need it. But the cut and fit is amazing.

J2007: AND if you decide you don’t like it, you can dye it.

J2008: It’s on sale at half the original price. So that’s two amazing coats for the price of one.

J2007: That’s VALUE.

J2008: I’ve gotten rid of a lot of clothes. Including coats.

J2007: You’re good, J2008. You’ve waited on the coat until it went on sale, you haven’t bought anything you didn’t need, and you’re getting rid of things you’re not using. You’ve even waited on those pretty dress shoes you’ve been lusting after.

J2008: I have been very virtuous.

J2007: What’s one extra coat? Tim Gunn would approve on all fronts.

The white coat is MINE now.

Husbands and knitting

[Note: This is a Very Opinionated Post. You have been warned.]

I listed to a lot of Podcasts. Recently, I’ve been catching up on some older ones. This morning, while I was listening to knitTherapy, one of the K’s was talking about going on vacation, and her husband PROHIBITING knitting on their vacation.

The whole issue of husbands prohibiting knitting gets me completely incensed- what does working on a sock or a shawl on vacation take away from the husband? Nothing. It’s a control issue. We are all equal contributors in our relationships- whether or not you are the breadwinner is irrelevant.

When Andrew and I started dating, I made it clear that knitting was an established part of my identity. Knitting means yarn. Not knitting makes me cranky. When we got married, Andrew was aware that my stash was my trousseau. Lucky him, right? Of course right.

That’s exactly right. Knitting is art, and I would no sooner expect a knitter to quit knitting than an opera singer to stop singing, or a painter to stop painting. It’s stupid, and moreso, it’s disrespectful. Not only that, but it violates the “Love, honor, and cherish/obey” vow that many of us took when we got married. It also violates the “For better or for worse” bit.

I can say with a fair measure of certainty that the anti-knitting husbands all have hobbies and interests. Women, generally speaking, either absorb or accept their partner’s hobbies and interests. In the seven years I worked at the LYS, I heard husband after husband bitch and moan about all the “knitting crap” that their wives spent money on.

That’s really what it comes down to: money. If it’s free (like washing dishes, or doing laundry, or vacuuming), the spouses tend to be all for it. Like women often do, these women devalue themselves by referring to the communal money as their husband’s money. These are the same husbands who “babysit” when they spend time with their own children. The whole mess is infuriating.

Here’s my solution:

Scenario A:

Non-knitting spouse: Don’t bring your knitting.

Knitter: You’re right. My off-time is much better spent strangling the life out of you. [Sweet smile.]

Scenario B:

Non-knitting spouse: Don’t bring your knitting.

Knitter: It’s my vacation, too, darling. My knitting doesn’t take anything away from you. [Sweet smile.]

Scenario C:

Non-knitting spouse: Don’t bring your knitting.

Knitter: [Melodramatic, complete with hand against forehead] Without knitting, I am like a fish out of water, a woman with no air, a car with no gas. I simply * cannot be * without my knitting.

Carrots and knitting lace

Except for my knitting, I’m generally a very goal-oriented and focused person. I’m very good about making deadlines (for work), and completing things on (usually ahead) of schedule. I recently came out and admitted to one of my co-workers that I don’t knit one project at a time, or finish more projects than I start. I’m lucky if I finish a couple of pieces a month, really.

Part of this is because I need different things at different times: socks for travel knitting, lace for when my brain craves more, sweaters when I’m inspired to knit them (at home). Different projects for different places.

I also prioritize my knitting; if I have an event to wear it to, it gets bumped up. If it’s a gift that’s due (which is really rare for me), it gets bumped up. This is when I start getting resentful of my knitting. The full moon rises and the Knitting transforms into Obligatory Knitting. Big, ugly, fangy Obligatory Knitting.

The only way (for me) to overcome the despair brought on by Obligatory Knitting is to plan a Better Project. Juno Regina was a Better Project (at one point), and my next Better Project is Muir.

See the planning? Everything needed is in a bag. Juno Regina is getting to the point where I’m going to have to start actively paying attention to it. Once Juno is done, Muir can begin.

The issue isn’t having concurrent lace projects- it’s more of a carrot. Finish one, start the next. I’m not as virtuous as you might think.

I have a Convertible on the needles.

A Conversation

Me: I can’t decide whether to go home or to go to knitting tonight.

Andrew: Come home.

Me: But they have the massage guy there tonight. I could get a massage.

Andrew: You could come home and give ME a massage.

Me: Wow. That’s the opposite of what I wanted to do.

Andrew: Or, I could massage you.

Progress is inevitable

I have been making some steady progress on my Juno Regina. See?

I’m planning on making some adjustments to the pattern- one of which is to shorten it from eighty inches down to sixty. But.

CJ mentioned that the shawl is asymmetrical. I looked at the pattern, and evidently, the charts aren’t symmetrical.

But.

Looking at the photos, they appear to be close enough to symmetrical to warrant knitting it one piece- in lieu of knitting it in two pieces and grafting it.

Crushing defeat

Or, more accurately, crushing da hand. Ba dum bum.

On Thursday, my left hand incurred a crushing injury. No bones were broken, it just got smooshed pretty thoroughly. Colleen took care of the triage work and kept an eye on me, and no X-rays or emergency rooms were needed.

I was reminded how I don’t like to sit empty handed. I couldn’t type, I couldn’t knit. What was a woman to do?

I spun. I could put the ice pack on the affected area, and my left hand simply held the roving. I got a lot accomplished.

The Exhausted Pinks were spun and plied (almost 1000 yards of a respectable fingering weight):

I spun and plied my Henrietta (from The Dyeing Arts, bought from the Lime’n’Violet store)- I finally managed a 3-ply sock weight yarn (450 yds/4 oz.)!

I love this color. It’s psychedelic Easter egg colors. My fingers are itching to knit these.
Not to leave you wanting, but I did have a three day weekend. I also spun and plied 4 ounces of “She’s Like a Rainbow” from Crown Mountain.

This turned out a little thicker than intended- but it’s a nice sport weight (roughly 350 yds/4 oz). The cooler part is what I decided while I was spinning it.

First, if you’re planning on buying any roving from Crown Mountain, DO. Klaus is a charming man, the roving is an AMAZING value, and it is excellent quality. I couldn’t recommend it more- especially if you’re a beginning spinner.

They give you 8.5 ounces for $19, which is awesome. That means you can spin a thicker yarn and still have enough yardage for something. With 4 ounces, you either have enough for a hat (or socks), or you don’t. That’s it.

Once you’re a more consistent spinner, you know how much you need (roughly) for your intended project. At this point, if Andrew isn’t into the color I’m spinning, I’m only spinning 4 ounces of the bump. Which means, I can trade or sell the other 4-4.5 oz.

Either way, it works.

Black sock series, pair #3

I've been actively working on the Black Sock Project, and as I occasionally finish things, here are a few shots of the FO, on Andrew:

What's that in the background?

A sleeping Niki.

(Yes, we do vacuum regularly. This is the aesthetic decor that comes from having two Chow mixes.)

EXTREEEEEEME close-up:

I've been spinning, too. I finished 4 (of 12 oz) of the Oriental Poppies:

Here's a small amount Navajo-plied:

Sense and color sensibility

On Sunday, I made a trek over to Purlescence to deliver some gluten-free beer cheese soup, and to pick up two balls of sock yarn.

Since one of the Minions has Celiac disease, a fair amount of my cooking (for Saturdays) is gluten-free. Since one of the Purl Girls has a wheat allergy, when I have a gluten-free dish, I like to share. A fair amount of Persian food happens to be gluten-free, so options aren't entirely limited for the anti-wheat contingent. But when a woman has a hankering for beer cheese soup, nobody stands in her way. And by "her" I mean, me.

When I made the decision to do beer cheese soup, I called Erica and discussed gluten-free beer, along with safe brands of chicken broth and Worcestershire sauce. Grocery shopping was done, and the soup took less than a half hour (both prep and cooking time). Once the Minions were done eating, we separated out a care package to be delivered.

Not to toot my own horn, but that soup was GOOOOD. I modified the recipe a fair amount, which I normally don't do the first time I try a recipe, but what can I say? Jasmin 2008 lives dangerously.

I hung out at Purlescence for a little while, caused a little chaos, bought some black sock yarn, and bought some UUUUUUGly sock yarn. See?

Ok, maybe it's not "UUUUUUGly", but it IS loud. My recent success with overdyeing has made me bold. I see unusual, moderately unappealing colors, a generous sale price, and I think "That will be TERRIFIC to overdye."

While I was there, Robin asked what color it was going to be. The truth is, I don't know yet. I figure I'll start a pot of dye, throw a bunch of stuff in there, and one of the four balls of yarn will go in there. 2008 is about unclenching, letting go, and letting my inner artist come out.

I made a crack about the potential for the yarn turning out "like vomit". That was when it dawned on me, that my sense of color vomit could be someone else's rainbow. That my favorite colors certainly are someone else's color vomit.

I suppose it's all about color sensibility- we buy yarn, clothes, roving, and home decor in colors that are appealing to us. I have two friends who look stunning in baby-poop green. I knit one of them a baby-poop green shawl, and it was hard to get through. Though I like the color well enough, I am keenly aware that I look jaundiced in it.

This is the reason why most of my yarn is orange, pink, and olive green. The same goes for my mother and red.

The comforting part of this realization is that if my yarn turns out in a way that is unappealing to me, I know for certain that someone else will absolutely love it.

Driving Miss Gigi

Mom is arriving back from overseas today. Though no requests were made for Reuben sandwiches, her travel schedule posed a bit of a problem.

Tehran is 11 1/2 hours ahead of us. Her plane left at God-Awful-Early AM (Tehran time), which makes it a Totally Reasonable hour here. Mom's schedule is all messed up, so every time she thought to call, she realized that it was an Unreasonable Hour in California.

I'll admit to making overseas calls at 2:30 AM their time, only remember it was an Unreasonable Hour in Tehran once my very tired, confused, and angry uncle answered the phone. Ooops. I hung up, glad that star-sixty-nine doesn't work on international calls. My cowardice is LEGEND.

Back to Mom. Right.

I have her flight information. I like to keep tabs on how the travel is going (a la flight tracker), so that in case of a delay, I'm not left uninformed. Sam's flight was delayed more than eight hours. Due to my meticulous planning and flight tracking, his Reuben was delivered hot. (Or lukewarm. San Francisco is a bit of a drive, folks.)

So, standard real-time flight trackers only work for domestic flights, which is fine, unless you have someone flying internationally to get domestic. After a few minutes of hunting, I found a site that would update me on the status of her flight, but alas, with no cool, real-time graphics.

Providing everything stays on schedule, Mom should be home this afternoon. Jet-lagged like a mofo, but home.