hand eye crafts

I didn't need my Sociology degree to understand the idea that we can all be thought of as yarn dolls.  We're all pretty much the same shape, but made from different types of yarn.  We vary in thickness, color, durability, sensitivity, touch, ease of working with, tension, yadayadayougetthemetaphor. What maybe I did  need the extra education for was thinking about the ties.  We are, all of us, bundled together into our own particular shape by ties.  The ties can be strangleholds, or they can barely keep us together.  They can slip out of place at times, changing how we look/feel.  They can be made of different stuff than the yarn that they're binding, so that we never feel quite right.  And then, occasionally, the ties can break altogether, and we come completely undone. Now, depending upon which ties break, we may be able to fix ourselves.  Pull an extra length of yarn from someplace inconspicuous, and just re-tie.  Sometimes, we have ...

All the Scooby Doo birthday bones have been knit, packed up, and will be sent out tomorrow.  I'm still not sure the colors are quite right, but there's still time before the party to sort all that out. So, bones aside, the sock grows: I'm also working on an airy, shimmery, sparkly scarf with some yarn I found in a box of my mother's when I cleaned out one of my closets the other day.  No photo yet, but I'll get one to you. Other than the bones, life has been fairly gray around here.  One (or maybe more) of my medications has definitely stopped working, and I've spent lots of hours sort of swirling the drain.  Won't you be glad when I pull my act together and have some entries that don't mention crying jags and insomnia? Me, too.

Fear not --- the Sock I Shall Knit has been cast on, and shall grow apace this weekend, but something else has temporarily interrupted. This is a little cotton bone I had for sale on etsy --- as a dog toy, really.  But, the other afternoon, I got a request to make 10 of them for a customer's daughter's Scooby Doo birthday party!  So, I'm at work knitting bones, stuffing bones, and keeping Finn away from bones which must still look like toys to him but are clearly  party decorations. Children. . . 

Because socks do not lie to you about how much yarn you will need to complete them. Socks have no sleeves to "ease" into armholes whose patterns came from someplace altogether different than the rest of the garment. Socks have that simply amazing heel turn.  There is nothing else remotely like it in all of knitting. Socks, even if the toe is wonky, are generally covered by shoes and subject to lots of "oohs" and "aahs," which an ill-fitting, poorly-seamed sweater simply won't receive. Socks are the closest thing knitters have to instant gratification. Socks won't have you start over three times, with three different yarns, and three different patterns, trying your damnedest to make your son a sweater. I think I shall knit a sock.

Well, I suppose it does.  And, short of going back to the picture of Sam , this may be the best I can do on a chilly Saturday. Rules: • Post these rules. • You must post 11 random things about yourself. • Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post. • Create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer. • Go to their blog and tell them that you have tagged them. • No stuff in the tagging section about ‘you are tagged if you are reading this.’ blah blah blah, you legitimately have to tag 11 people! (whatever, tag as you like, fun remember?) Random Facts: 1. My name is "Kim."  No "Kimberly," no middle name. 2. I like anchovies on my pizza. 3. I do not drink.  I just don't like the taste. 4. I have never been farther west in the US than barely inside Texas. 5. I have never been out of the country. 6. My favorite actresses are Sissy Spacek and Amanda Plummer. 7. I hate my feet. 8. I thought I would turn out to be a better mother than...

One of my absolute favorite websites is  ZooBorns . You know --- favorite in that "I've-only-got-time-to-check-about-four-sites-before-I-have-to-be-out-the-door" way.  It would be one of the four I checked.  Because you get faces like this: This is a Bongo, named Brody.  And if he put every ounce of his bongo-ness behind it, I don't think he could be a single bit cuter.  Plus, the ears make you pull out that old routine, "WHAT?  WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?" Well, one of the things we're saying is that today on ZooBorns, there are pictures of a baby tapir.  (Google it, people, I can't do all your work for you.)  For a very long time, tapirs were Briton's Very Most Favorite Animals In The Whole Big World.  And having been such, they remain objets d'affection at The Chez.  Please meet Unnamed Male Tapir: Cute, right?  Squeeeeeeeing all over the place, yes?  But it was the second picture that sold it for me.  I don't know how ma...

For those who might have forgotten who our reigning Knitters' Hunk is:

The check for my mother's life insurance policy came in yesterday --- I'm back from the bank, having divvied it up among accounts. That rectangle of paper means that somewhere, in some office, the books are closed on Delores E. Spence.  And that made me profoundly sad.  I will never, ever forget going to our insurance agent when Dale died, to move things around, be sure all his paperwork was taken care of.  The agent had all of Dale's information up on his computer screen, and when he realized we were done with it, he hit the "delete" key.  Right in front of me.  My husband was completely, irrevocably gone.  I doubt the agent even realized what he had done, but it has haunted me as insensitive and thoughtless ever since. Fortunately, I was not in the office when my mother's records were erased.

Two things have made me happy: Tiger cubs Look at those feet. . .   My favorite is the one in back. . .  No interest in the publicity machine. . . AND What a surprise. . .  Hugh Laurie. . .  (You can skip ahead to :21 for the bit that makes me laugh out loud.) He is so magnificently funny. . .

A couple of days ago, I spilled a Dr Pepper on my computer.  It immediately shut down.  Naively, I thought it would work again once it had time to dry out.  It didn't.  In fact, it sputtered and sparked and emitted that awful electrical fire smell.   So, I had to buy a new one.  (No, I haven't gotten a job;  this was bought using money from Mama's bank account.)  And the new one, though it would go to the old blog , it didn't allow me to make new entries.  So, once again , I've got a new blog, with the name I wanted to use anyway. Join me for 2012, if you don't mind.