Lazy Summer

Haven't entered anything in here in a while, I see, but then nobody reads it anyway so who am I trying to please? I've been knitting great guns since we got back from the Blue Ridge trip. There's a wrap I really want to get done to wear to Seattle, if I can, in Sublime soya cotton--- they call the color "cinnamon" but I think it's exactly the color of brown paper bags. This is what I picked up after returning the evil Noro Silk Garden. I've also shifted my current socks onto two circs each, which seems to be working well, and I worked out a design based on a ripple pattern in the Knitter's Bible. There are three other sock yarns whining at me to be started, and a cardigan languishing on the shelf, so if I start anything else I need to have my head examined!
The heat has been eating into my exercise time, which means more time in the gym is called for. The dogs just don't warrant much of a walk when it's over eighty and humid as a rain forest, nor do they really want to go out. It's too buggy and wet to go to the driving range, due to the lovely thunderstorms we've been having every night (no sarcasm intended; I really enjoy thunderstorms and we need every inch of rain.)
Sunday's golf game was an exercise in living with embarassment. I hit a few decent drives and of course I can chip and putt pretty well, thanks to all the minigolf Phil & have played, but by the back nine I just could not get to the green. I got so blitzed by the heat that Phil urged me to sit out a while and I skipped the last three holes in favor of sitting in the cart. Dave, Phil, and Holli seemed unaffected by the sweatbath conditions. Guess I'm meant to be a spring and fall golfer. I need a few lessons, too, to get me to the green in less than five or six shots! I was using SPF70 sunslop, and missed a space on the front of each shin for some reason--- it's still sort of pink. I was pretty ticked at myself because I try to be very careful about sun exposure, having skin that turns red if I even think about the sun.
Got to go catch up on the Tour de France. I'm following the Chipotle-Garmin American team (since we're consumers of both products---ummm, veggie burritos.)

Mom's Laprobes

Mom would have loved our bright pink azaleas; just the color for an afghan. When I was young, she crocheted and tatted a bit, but was probably too busy to give yarn much attention. After Dad died in ’91, though, she took up knitting with vigor. She’d go to the bargain store and get log-size skeins of synthetic variegated yarn, the brighter the better, preferably with some pink or red included. [This woman had a bright pink kitchen with red and white curtains and red-checked oilcloth on the table for 60 years. She knew what she liked.] Then she’d cast as many stitches onto long aluminum straight needles as she could, enough to make a rectangle about three feet wide. The only stitch she ever learned was straight garter. When it was long enough, she cast off. My job, when I came to see her, was to weave in all the ends, go around the edge with single crochet, and then crochet a shell stitch border. When she had a few, she’d take them up to the nuns either for the old folk’s home [older folks than Mom] or to sell at a flea market.
The last afghan, knit during her final year when she was very unwell, was never finished. As her sight got poorer and the pain medication more frequent, the piece spread into an uneven mass of dropped stitches and knots. Still, she liked to spread it on her lap and pick up the needles, and drift off to sleep. I kept the last skein, a rather startling mix of fuchsia, purple, pink, and blue. I kept all her metal needles and the bone crochet hooks, the silver thimbles, wooden darning egg, and soft faded tape measures. I still use the needles now and then, and the worn down tips and silvery ends fill my heart. I feel connected to a long chain of women knitting and crocheting, back to some ancient Irish grandmother spinning thick sheepy wool for a fisherman’s sweater. Some Red Heart yarn in the “Azalea” colorway would have been right up Mom’s alley.

How I learned to knit

Actually I didn't, for many years. First I learned to crochet. My Mom had a German friend, Anna, who came here after WWII. Anna was a knock-out cook who always had cookies or cake on hand and lots of patience, and she lived three blocks from us. Back in the 50's a 7-year old girl could walk all over town without anyone being afraid, let alone me, and the only restriction was that when the Waterworks whistle blew-- a mournful hooting that could be heard for miles-- then we had to scamper home for either lunch or dinner.
So I pestered Anna on a regular basis. First she showed me how to make snakes with crochet thread and a wooden spool with small nails driven in the top [now we use a plastic gizmo and call it I-cord.] Then I learned to crochet with thread around the edges of handkerchiefs. Much later, in my hippie days, crochet was one of many arts used to make presents for long-suffering family. Every decade or so I'd try to knit and it seemed sooooo sloooow and frustrating compared to crochet, which I could knock out by the yard. Finally, now in my dotage, I retired and realized that I had pretty well saturated the market for lap robes, and wanted to make something that would actually fit, like a sweater.
Enter the internet-- the wonderful instructional internet. Do you have any idea how many knitting videos there are on YouTube? Plus wonderful step by step diagrams. I discovered how to hold the yarn, and the knit stitch was easy. I discovered (OK, so I'm slow) that when you purl you have to Move The Yarn to The Front. Hey, nobody ever told me that.
So now I can knit. But I wouldn't be doing it if it weren't for Anna, my Mom, and a host of wonderful women behind the scenes.

So I thought I'd try this blogging thing---

I tried on all my summer pants this morning and only saved one pair to wear-- the rest were all TOO BIG. Yup, I has shrunk. This is a wonderful thing considering that I have gradually been gaining weight for oh, about the last 30 years. I only have a mere 40 more pounds to go. This will keep me occupied for most of the year, I suspect.
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For reasons unknown I'm knitting pillow covers for the existing pillows that will live on our new couch. They're yucky colors, I have an awful lot of yarn, it's an excuse to buy more yarn, and they should be dead easy. If you knit, those are reasons enough. The first one is half Kara in a blue mix and half Baby Alpaca Grande, incredibly sensuous soft squishy yarn that you just want to crawl into & take a nap. If it weren't so pricey I would seriously make an afghan out of it. Like all my projects they are taking too long, because I think about knitting more than I actually seem to do it [kind of like I used to think about dieting more than........]
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Tonight is the Third Night of the Chicken, ie a roasted bird, so I will either make soup or chicken salad. Since the azaleas are bursting out and sun is shining, all very Spring-y, I opt for salad. A few walnuts, some celery, a little fruit of some sort, a light dressing, something on the side; and we'll call it supper. Maybe the pound of fava beans I got at the store on Friday because I love their bright green. Of course a pound of pods will make about a tablespoon each, and every bean has to be shelled, blanched, peeled, etc., but I never mind interacting with nice vegetables. It's my fave part of cooking. Somebody else could come in and handle the nasty meat [and of course do the dishes and clean the sink] and I'll happily deal with any amount of vegetables.
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Next post I'll explain the title of this blog.