Out to lunch
My lunch breaks often look like this:
Where I attempt to solve whatever riddle has lately been plaguing me about things I do not know how to do. In this case: Tunisian crochet, i.e. afghan stitch. I have done more than it looks like, because the whole thing just loves to curl up on itself. It was supposed to be 2 inches longer, but I will make do. If I make it through this process, it will be a fluffy thing made from some bulky leftover yarn from my brother’s hat. A cozy, in fact, something to put my phone in to prevent scratching, though I’ve never understood why electronics need to be cozy anyway.
I have remembered, however, that one thing I hate about knitting is that you have to try to work with the &*$%&* needle while it has yarn on it, and this technique, while promising, suffers from that same irritating problem. So. $&*(&^%#$%^.
In other news, Wesley is out to lunch in a different way, just being himself. First he ate my yogurt. Then my tomato and mushroom sauce and noodles. Then he ate a Sharpie pen – blue (non-toxic and water-based, luckily). He’s all ready for Halloween!
Nota bene, btw: tomatoes, mushrooms and grapes are toxic to dogs, esp. grapes. They damage their kidneys. Just FYI, now that I’ve smacked my own forehead over it.
This dog does not know boundaries. The blue is actually more pronounced in person, although he appears to have been wearing it off gradually. The other side of his face looks like he’s drooling blue ink. Charming, I promise. Also, the floor is spotted blue. That was my favorite part. *sigh* He’s lucky he’s cute. Do you suppose parents say that about their children when the children wreak havoc?
Going to be having adventures for the next couple of days. Hopefully I can let loose some info about recent developments soon. Not quite time yet!
Part 3 of 4: Trying Again or Stubbornness
*AHEM* Never make plans. Plans never work out. I planned to post twice last week, but unfortunately evil shapeshifting soldiers from an alternate universe appeared and … wait. That was Fringe.
I ended up watching TV because I was hijacked by illness and despair last week. A nasty combination of migraine and stomach flu convinced me by late Wednesday that I must surely be dying. This was not true. I was, however, sicker than I’ve been since I was a teenager, and the only thing that interested me about the computer was reruns of Simon & Simon on Hulu.
Crafting did not interest me. For three days I lay prone, trying to pretend I was hot or cold because I was in the Bahamas or Iceland. Finally yesterday I picked up my crochet hook (it seemed like a low energy task) and started working again on the red sweater I started a year ago. I WILL FINISH IT THIS TIME. I just tried it on again this evening and the sleeves now fit and the decreases I forgot last time are going well. All these sweater struggles had better make my next crochet sweater much easier.
It seems I am in a mood to pick up tasks which previously frustrated me, all of them having to do with making clothing. If I am nothing else, I am persistent in getting things done which I feel must be done. I may get frustrated, but I don’t give up until I’ve figured things out.
Before the minions of hell loosed their plague upon me, I was working on my wardrobe sewing skills. I’ve been using my mending pile to figure how fitting clothing works. You may remember I was slightly miffed when trying to alter a dress pattern to fit me (we won’t go into that rant again) and gave it up as a bad job for a while. I’ve managed to alter several shirts and two skirts to fit me now, figuring out where the darts and whatever are supposed to go for things to fit me.
This is my example of my fitting work, complete with bad camera work and piles of mending. On the left is a shirt with an acre of extra room, and on the right the end product. I was excited that it worked. The project wasn’t all that spectacular, except for the fact that all the fitting was new to me … I have to start somewhere, right?
In summation, I am determined that (a) I will feel like a human again, not a dishrag and (b) that I will make myself clothing that fits. Surely these are not too much to ask for.
Things to remember
So a friend of mine has a grandmother. And her grandmother crocheted a baby afghan for her great-great grandson, my friend’s grandson. Her grandson loved the blanket, and carried it with him. Everywhere. Until there were holes. Giant holes. Really giant holes.
The blanket was mended once, with a scrap brown yarn. Then the grandson put some new and larger holes in it. That’s where I came in, to reduce the number of holes and give it a third life. So on vacation, that was one of my projects, to fix and reinforce the blanket.
The blanket is a simple one, double crochet rows, made of Red Heart in red, white and bright blue. There are nicer yarns and fancier patterns, but as this blanket shows, neither is really that necessary. There are clearly other things that matter more when you’re the three-year-old whose blanket this is.
