Pischi Days

Of Caramels and Chemo Hats

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

I have a weakness for caramels and Susan saved a precious caramel for me. Her Mum brought them all the way from Iowa, one pound of soft, sweet, buttery goodness. The little package was part of her dowry for umpteenth  trip to the hospital for treatment. I have been hunting a recipe to rival the flavour and texture ever since. I think that I have found a recipe that closely resembles the taste but not the texture. Making caramels in 80% humidity is not always a success story. The first batch turned into caramel goo, sorry, I meant sauce. I presented my "sauce" to Susan upon her arrival home from the hospital. The glass dish was accompanied by several Granny Smith apples. It was lapped up by all and sundry. I had a hit. There was one more small glass jar that I had put in the refrigerator. When the daughter of the house arrived home she, too, wanted a sample. The door was opened and we heard the crash. The sauce was history. We wore two sad faces.

Back to the sauce pan and onto the recipe. It does harden if you take the time to really boil the concoction slowly and use the thermometer. I will be cutting these up and wrapping them this afternoon.
Susan is heading out for the beach on Monday morning for her second round of a five day chemotherapy treatment. I sending her off with more caramels. Here is a link for her CarePage.

I talked about my friend  in past blog posts. She is an aspiring knitter, garter dishcloths are her specialty. We will be working on the purl stitch soon, I hope! Here she is with her trusty cat, Bella, making sure that  garter doesn't get too easy.

 

So, as it happens, Susan has lost what was her crowning glory. The hair came out overnight in large patches on her pillow. Even though we live in mind numbing heat, hair keeps the body temperate. It was time to make some hats. My first attempt was the Belliveau Cove, a crochet bucket like hat. I was not pleased with the results due to the lack of depth in the crown, too Mother Hubbard. I like the pattern, it took two hours to whip up, so I made a second version with three extra rows of shell pattern. It looks much better. The flowers are a friends creation and make the hat extra special. Suz will be in the hospital all next week. I hope she remembers to take her knitting.

 

As I was boiling the caramel concoction above, Susan was sitting in my kitchen and telling me about the overwhelming feeling of walking into these cancer centers, head spinning, fear and confusion reign supreme.  On her last stay at Cape Canaveral Hospital, she was showered with visits and cards. She told me of one patient that had been there for months and had no one and no place to go. Her daughter found this to be so sad so she came up with the idea to set up a table at the race filled with paper and art supplies for anyone who wants to make cards to take to fourth floor next week. Susan talked about how she would like to be part of a network to help those without family to provide a hand to hold, a story read aloud at bedside, or a ride to a treatment. Here is the address should you feel inclined to send a card.

Cape Canaveral Hospital
4 E/W Oncology
701 West Cocoa Beach Causeway
Cocoa Beach, FL 32931

Our little town is coming together to partake in a special triathlon for cancer survivors and there caretakers. Lots of us will be racing for Susan. I know that knitters have big hearts so please just turn your thoughts south this Friday evening and send us positive energy.

Here is a recent article that ran in our local paper.

Titusville mother is one tough competitor
PATTI SPONSLER
FREELANCE

PATTI SPONSLER
FOR FLORIDA TODAY

Susan Slayman is a tough competitor -- both on a triathlon course and against cancer. One month after finishing the 2006 Family Challenge Triathlon, the Titusville mother of three was diagnosed with soft tissue sarcoma, requiring surgical removal of a tumor in her lung.
She returned to last year's race with a new appreciation for what she could do, even though an ominous lump had appeared on her leg and the results of her biopsy were not yet known.
"I had seen an article about a man who had lost his leg to sarcoma and was still doing marathons," she said. "I thought about how grateful I was to still be able to participate in the race."
During the last few months, Slayman has undergone surgery and radiation for the sarcoma that returned to her lung, as well as her diaphragm and leg. Her July 4 holiday was spent in the hospital receiving the first of several five-day rounds of chemotherapy.
The cancer has forced her to broaden her definition of participation this year.
"I was getting a little teary-eyed and feeling sorry for myself that I will probably have to be a spectator this year instead of a participant," said Slayman. "During my quiet time, though, God showed me that out of fear or because of lack of time management or whatever reason, many of us really don't participate in many areas of our lives. We just let life and opportunities to touch others pass by."
Slayman chooses to do otherwise and will be fully engaged while encouraging those who are well enough to swim, bike and run in the Cancer Challenge Triathlon.
"I know that even as a spectator, I can choose to participate while cheering others on," she said. "Cancer is not going to stop me from participating in life, no matter what."

Monumental

Construction may be slow in the rest of the country but Atlanta is getting its bit of Paris and so am I. Well not quite Paris but a bit of European architecture.

In the spirit of July 4th and in the wake of oppressing humidity, my neighbour strolled over for a chat. As we were sitting and talking about mindless things, Tom mentioned the Millennium Gate. He read about the project  in the paper. I had not heard about it but you can read about it here and make up your own mind. Evidently the placement is less than ideal and it frames an IKEA. Well, they tried.

Since the day was slow Lisa I had the bright idea to build our own monument.  I have been the proud owner of  3 boxes of Anker building blocks that I brought back from Germany in 2001. These blocks have a long, colourful history and are based on the father of kindergarten, Friedrich Froebel's, wood blocks. I purchased these thinking that my son would enjoy them but I m the one who secretly plays with them. To me they are a box of happiness from the moment I slide back the lid and inhale the first blast of linseed oil. I never cease to marvel at the precise order each box is in, all the pieces in their place according to the drawing on the lid.

The stones are still made in the same moulds that were used in the 19th century using an original recipe of quartz, chalk, linseed oil, and natural pigments. Unfortunately the stones are a little fragile and if dropped, they chip.

 

The plans, although accurate, are not always easy to follow. This makes for quite a challenge. We chose to make the guard house out of all the pieces in all three boxes. We started out on shaky ground. The Portico was tricky and fell apart on the first two tries. Once we had the roof going, the rest came together. It took us a good hour construct our monument and we cheered when the last block was in place. Now I'm ready for box 10A. Santa, baby, I'm putting this on my on my Christmas list.

I Can See Myself in This

On those days when I  want to keep the world out.

 

 

Easter Greetings...Frohe Ostern

"March is the month of expectation,
The things we do not know,
The Persons of Prognostication
Are coming now.
We try to sham becoming firmness,
But pompous joy
Betrays us, as his first betrothal
Betrays a boy."
-   Emily Dickinson, XLVIII

Lent It Be

Today, Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent. For some, a time for a bit of soul searching, repentance, and taking stock.

My personal objective for the season is to reinforce my goal of yarn abstention and continue to knit from the stash. Consume less, knit more is my motto...40 days isn't that long, is it?

On that note, here is an article that was published in Philadelphia Weekly not too long ago. I almost fell out of my chair laughing. Here is the follow up article. Knitzkrieg indeed. Hold on to your needles and enjoy.

You'd better hide, Mr. Wells.

Wake Up Call

Yesterday mortality stepped up and slapped my face. The hand print left made me think about what lays ahead for me as I end my 49th year.

The day started with all the normal routines in place with the exception of a doctors appointment with my favorite gastro. As we chatted he exclaimed, "You're turning 50?" and promptly scheduled my first colonoscopy. After the exam we chatted about my friend and neighbor who is one of his patients, now in a nursing facility. She is fatally ill with colon cancer.

This wonderful and vibrant woman was active as late as October of 2007. We sat and chatted at a Halloween party given by my next door neighbor. She asked me about my gallbladder removal as she was scheduled for the same procedure in November. I thought nothing more of the conversation until I was told that she was sent home after the physician ended the operation. She had wide spread inoperable cancer. Within weeks she has deteriorated to a shadow of her former self. I sat with her yesterday and we talked for an hour. Her mind is still very sharp and she was amazed that she had yet to feel pain. We laughed when she said, "The staff commented on the amount of visitors that have come through. They hinted that I had too many." That was a comfort to me. As I  was leaving, I was greeted by several people who recognized me. I stopped short as I recognized a name on a door. The inhabitant was a lady taught me the art of calligraphy. She was also an active woman who competed in ballroom dance. She had several strokes and was now living in the facility as a permanent resident. My friend, employed by the home showed me pictures that she sells to anyone interested. They were pages from a coloring book. Cinderella, lovingly colored using pencils. Yes, she colors in the lines and the colors are accurate. My friend owns two that she has hanging on her filing cabinet in the office.

As it happens, I opened email that affected me profusely. My husbands cousin, a youngish 50 something is at home spending her last days in bed after her second bought with breast cancer . Her husband chose to send out pictures of her in bed that were so disturbing they will be burned into my memory for quite a while. I’m not sure that I wanted to remember her in this way.

The theme of death and dying continued when I listened to David Rieff discuss his mother’s Susan Sontag’s, experience with her cancer episodes on NPR this afternoon. As I age, this will become a recurring theme. I’m just not that I wanted to face it yet.

Hodge Podge Knitalong

A lot has happened at Chez Claybaugh over the past few weeks. I hadn't thought so until I sat down with my next door neighbor who had been on an adjacent trip to Boston and then jetted off to Europe. After listening to her adventures, I used all my fingers on both hands to give her a rundown of happenings in our atmosphere. I'll bore you only with the fiber portion of my life.
My knitting has revolved around WIPS these days. My goal is to only have about four things on the needles at a time. A garment, a scarf or shawl of some sort, a pair of socks, two at the most. Ravelry has helped me gain oversight in what I have in my stash and what's on my needles. This coupled with a newly discovered podcast "Stash and Burn", I hope to keep my knitting life more manageable.
Here is the latest rundown.
Recently completed,  Victorian Lace socks, the summer sock recipe from the SixSox KAL. The yarn I used was Lorna's Laces Baby Stripe. I liked the pattern, although if I never have to knit another melon stitch, I'll die happy. The yarn was from Olgajazzzy's stash that I had purchased last year. It was not my color either, but I found a friend who loves the socks and has the Ked's to wear with them.

On the needles, the Smidge Pidge in 100% Pure Angora, also bought from another bloggers stash. The stitch is hard to discern due to the heavy halo of bunny fur.

I am pleased to announce that I am at the halfway to completion of the last of the 2006 Socks That Rock yarns. This is by far the new favorite, Winters Eve, knit in the Mustang Sally colorway. It is with a heavy heart that I am declining the 2008 invitation of both Socks That Rock and the new Sundara Seasons yarn clubs. I have a veritable treasure trove of sock yarn that I want to use or destash.

My two languishing projects that have jumped back into the limelight are my never ending Lady Eleanor and the Hanne Falkenburg DaCapo jacket. Both are not portable any longer due to the size. This means that they are nearing completion. I'm ashamed to admit that the DaCapo has been in progress since November 2005 and Lady Eleanor was started a year later in November 2006. Hmm, I wonder what it is about November that prevents me from completing those projects. I have taken both to our little knitting group that meets upstairs at the bakery. I have the luxury of arriving at 7 AM, after dropping my son off at the pool, and knitting in solitude until 9 when the others begin to arrive. Total knitting time on Thursdays, five precious hours.

What up for 2008? This will be my year of destash. I loosely calculated, based on my Raverly inventory, that I have 7 sweaters, 5 scarves, and 20 pair of socks to work on. My latest addition to the list is Kraemers Silk and Silver. After reading  Clara Perkins review, I had to have it. So, enough already, I still have to make it through the SAFF weekend!

On a purely personal note, my son attended his first dance, Homecoming. Here he is in full regalia squeezing one of his swim teammates. Ah, to be young again.

Go Endeavor

A quick look at the Endeavor launch from our 10th floor vantage point. In front of us is the Indian River and the Vehicle Assembly Building. The cabin leak that prevented lunch yesterday was corrected and we had liftoff a day later. The 11 day mission will have teacher Barbara Morgan on board.

Below us are the assembled masses at Space View park around the Project Gemini Monument.

The day here was extremely hot and stagnant with the temperature in the high 90's. We were grateful for the breeze coming off the river while enjoying the view.

With a Face Like This...

...what's not to love. Today was the final Fleece Dog needle felting class and Mandy Dog's big coming out. Isn't she cute? It was just a few weeks ago when she was just a bundle of raw flees and a pair of glass eyes. Today was spent making ears, a tail, facial features, filling out the body, and creating a bit of personality. I dug through the trash for a yarn ribbon and used my little scrap of leftover fleece to fashion a bone. I love the results. What a departure from knitting. I had a great teacher. Thanks Barbara. thanks also to Ann, owner of my closest LYS, Knit & Stitch, for providing such a welcoming environment.

As always, I couldn't leave empty handed. My latest yarn procurement , (all in support of, of course) were 7 balls of Dream, a wonderfully cuddly baby blue yarn. All with Sitcom Chic in mind.

Sheep to Dog

My local LYS, Knit and Stitch in Cocoa Village, sends out class schedules monthly that have been glanced at and cast aside with guilty regularity. The drive there is a 45 mile round trip that I'm usually too tired and to frugal to make. The store is small but nice, increasingly better stocked than in the past. The owner more a gracious hostess, than a mere shopkeeper. I was intrigued by a class that involved needle felting, something that I have not tried and know very little about. I made the commitment to take the series of four lessons.

Class is based on the book Fleece Dog by Nobuku Nagakubo,  and an accompanying kit of various shades of raw wool and trim to create a variety of dogs. I have chosen the Yellow Labrador and I will try to capture the essence of our shop dog, Mandy. Here is the teachers model of the Westie.

When I left for class yesterday afternoon, I was looking forward to a table full of classmates making a variety of dogs. When I arrived, I was told that I was the only student. Great, one on one. My teacher, Barbara, is very thorough and explains every step . I learned about the differences between roving, pencil roving, and sliver. I learned to card and blend the colors to achieve a Mandy-like coat. Barbara suggested that I bring some of Mandy's fur, washed, of course, to combine with the wool for some good doggie karma.
  After my wool had been blended, I made a wire frame with the coil in my kit. The next step is to slip a piece of spindle cord on each leg of the wire frame and crimp the end. Then the fun begins. A bit of yarn is wrapped around the  first leg and then you take the felting needle and repeatedly poke the wool. while turning the leg so as to keep it looking, well, leg like. Not a quick process. The needle is very sharp and any slipping can end in impalement.

So, blinders on, no distractions, please. I don't want to bleed on my dog.
Next week, the body beautiful...I hope.
 

It's Just a Thing

Having spent the better part of a weekend visiting my stash and  placing pictures on Ravelry, my attention has now turned to another compulsive pastime. Ravelry has a page where ones books are inventoried. Within that page lurks a link the LibraryThing.  Intrigued, I visited and realized that I had a membership long forgotten. I can't quite remember when I signed up.  Or why. Years ago I sold off quite a few of my books on half.com and I just couldn't face taking my 1000+ books off of shelves and typing in all those ISBN's again. Just as I was about to blow the whole thing off, I clicked on the tools page and their was a cute little scanner in the shape of a cat a CueCat. Only $15.00 includes shipping. I can do this, scan my books and have a handle on just what I own.
Now I'm addicted. I have scanned 3 rooms of books and am working on the main library. It's been a happy pastime visiting all those children's books, finding misplaced cookbooks, and rediscovering old friends.  There is a widget at the bottom of the page for the totally bored and wanting a glimpse into what's on my shelves.
I made room for my 2 preordered copies of "The Deathly Hallows". Bring it on!

Mail Call

Hey, guess what these are. Maybe I'm the last one in the know (again), but I'll share anyway. They're MOO mini cards. Mine happen to be calling cards with my contact info on the back. How to order, you ask? Easy. I used my flickr account, choose  images that I liked, cropped them to my liking and divested my PayPal account by $20.00. Cheap and cheerful. The cards arrived in less than a week in todays mail, from the UK, no less. They are small but oh, so cute. I can just hand them to anyone interested in finding me  or my blog...
Just a little knitting update so I can say that some knitting has taken place. Tom and I actually put the boat into the water for the first time this season. My sock went along for the ride. I am rotating between Victorian lace Sock 1 and Marble Arches Sock 2. Most of the weekend was spent cataloging yarn and projects in Ravelry.

Here is another item that I received in the last weeks mail. Firebird is the newest STR yarn installment. I am woefully behind knitting up the sock yarn. I also snuck two skeins of the new Handmaiden Fleece Artist Sea Wool into the stash. Now that I have the Vintage Velvet off the needles, I think that I will concentrate on the Stormwater shawl that I've let languish as a WIP for to long.
To end my missive, a bit of gratuitous kitty photography. Here's Kittywitz hanging out in the backyard hammock. Just don't put your hand beneath the hammock in the vicinity of her paws. You've been warned...

Reveling in Ravelry

My daily trip to the email box yielded my invitation to the new fiber site, Ravelry. I admit , I was starting to feel left out of the revelry that the podcasters and bloggers who belonged were talking about.
Unfortunately my invitation was read on my lunch break and I had to wait until last evening to really take time to become  acquainted with the site. To begin, one starts by filling out a profile with as much or as little information as one is willing to impart. You probably know the drill. Thats when the fun begins. The notebook is an area that lets you comprehensively inventory your yarn, needles, projects in gory detail. You can then add photos from your flickr account to illustrate your stash and projects. The stash can be labeled with a project idea or you can earmark the unloved skein for sale or swap. The benefits, along with gaining an understanding of what you own, are inclusion in Ravelry's database of projects, finished, in progress, queued, or stashed using that yarn. Brilliant. Now I can type in the name of that pesky skein that I can't seem to find a project for and find instant inspiration and some reviews of the yarns performance. All this info link back to other blogs that I never new existed. I can inventory my books, needles of all sizes and types, and my projects that are complete or in the works. The site goes a bit further and matches your profile with those who also shared your projects at one time or another. There is an internal mailroom with which to make contact. After about a day, your public profile will find your blog feed and place a miniature picture of your start page along with a list of your most recent blogposts. As I was drunkenly careening through Ravelry's corridors, I received 3 messages, 2 from old friends, Amy and Scarlett, whose blogs I already enjoy.
Does all this activity take time away from knitting. Well, in my case, you bet. My take on this is that once the initial time is spent cataloging your stuff, all you have to do is dust and polish occasionally. The benefits, to this knitter, are incalculable. I so impressed with the work that has been done by Casey and Jesse, that this is a service that I'm will to pay for.

3...2...1...Stop

As the mother of a boy on the verge of manhood, quality time spent together is running thin. Yesterday was  among those priceless moments that made all the heartache worthwhile.
We live close to the banks of the Indian River. Just across the water lay the launch pads for NASA. You can see the vehicle assembly building quite clearly. We have witnessed all the launches, those successful and regretfully those that were not so. I had no plans to watch this launch. It was Friday, and I was glad to call it a week. Then I experienced a pang of impending regret, one of those fleeting feelings that this moment, if not acted upon, would be lost in regret.
As I was driving home from work in the increasing chaotic traffic, north on US1, toward home, I called Erik who was horizontal on the couch in front of the TV escaping the sweltering heat and requested his presence in the driveway. The minute I pulled up he tossed his skateboard into the bed of the truck and joined me in the cab. We  sped off back in the direction of the river. On the spur of the moment we decided to head towards the old downtown area and my friend Terri's antique store on US1. The traffic had doubled and all vehicles in Florida were converging onto the same road, or so it seemed. We found an oasis of forgotten parking behind the bakery. Across the street we found Jon, Terri, and baby Mia watching the bumper to bumper traffic, all those who were looking for the perfect vantage point to watch the launch of Atlantis. Jon pulled out a conglomeration of chairs and we settled companionably to watch the parade of humanity, in cars and on foot. The variety of people and vehicles was staggering to watch.
During the last 10 minutes prior to liftoff, we packed up chairs, marched through the store, out the back door, down the block to the rear of the post office on the river. We barely had time to observe the diversity of people when everyone pointed and shouted. There was the liftoff, a huge white plume led by a blinding spot of light heading on a southeastern trajectory toward the space station.
After launch, we settled back in our variety of chairs from the shop, beer and wine in hand, and watched all those people attempt a speedy departure. Only it wasn't very speedy. I was reminded of those scenes in the movies where the grizzled men sit in front of variety stores and watch humanity go by. We sat companionably well into the night, chatting and observing the sky turn a rich blue. Erik and I bid our hosts good bye and headed to one of the last remaining drive-ins, the Moonlight, for a BLT for me and a burger and chocolate shake for Erik. With our tray hooked to the window, the radio playing in the background, we munched our supper in companionable silence. Erik looked over at me and said, "Mom, I had such a great time tonight". So did I, son, so did I.

Happy Mothers Day, Louise!

After 27 years of marriage and  years of raising a 16 year old, an ideal  Sunday consists of sleeping beyond 7:30 AM, coffee, lots of it, the Sunday paper in my pajamas and a waffle breakfast at my leisure. Then ... leave me alone.
I know, this sounds selfish, but I think a fair percentage of women will understand. My son and husband know the sanctity of Mother's Day and treat it accordingly.
Well, after the massive cups of coffee and the paper, I sat down in front of my iMac and watched the last of my Netflix movies, "Thelma and Louis." I know, I am a little behind in the current offerings in the theaters by a few decades. The phone rang, and my oldest friend announced her impending visit. We met when she was a teenager. I held her hand and heart through three marriages and several boyfriends. She cut my sons umbilical cord when he was born. How does this tie into Mother's Day?
She and I met when we were both hired on at a bridal shop in 1979. She was attending business school, and I was trapped in the Thelma like marriage. I was 21. She was 19. We were two girls from totally separate backgrounds made to spend our days together and run a business. She grew up and attended high school here while I was the outsider. A staunch Methodist from a good family, while I was living the '70's to the fullest. Mornings in my house consisted of identifying who  crashed on the couch after late nights of beer and backgammon and ...well ... anything was possible. Amazingly enough, we clicked, the odd couple indeed. We had our share of Thelma and Louise moments. Crazy adventures that in afterthought were just plain stupid, but boy, did we have a good time. I wouldn't trade those days for anything. She had brought her 25 year old son with her, a young man who I held as a baby. We laughed about how clueless I was about diaper changes. She was amazed that my son is a Sophomore in high-school. We are each others sons Godmothers. Time and schedules have kept us apart for the last few years. After watching the end of the movie, I thought about how strong my female friendships have been over the course of my life and I don't see her very often anymore.  My husband loves me; my son loves me, my girlfriend understands me. I hope that I'll be holding her hand for a few more years.
Happy Mother's Day

Of May Days and Pink Shoes

I'm not sure that the birthday ritual is that significant to women of a "certain age." I realize that some still want to celebrate with big parties and all the hoopla. As I got older, I always preferred to let it slip by as unnoticed as possible. This year was the most traumatic and unnoticed by all but a few select individuals. I turned 49 on the first of May.

I have to preface this story with saying that I was adopted, my birth was not something that was celebrated but an event that was best  forgotten by my biological family. I think that small cloud has always invisibly hovered over my head. My adopted, all German, family celebrated the birthday with merrymaking, jubilation and lots of food and socialization. I grew up in Germany where they fete themselves the with the all the lavishness that a birthday deserves, even the most modest affairs begin with the family coming for "Kaffee" and then the festivities spill into the evening with more food and friends coming by with flowers, wine, or small gifts. There was no pressure on friends to host the occasion. You were responsible for your own party.

I found out that living in "Amerika" means that hosting your own bash was a little forward, maybe too narcissistic even egotistical. You are at the mercy of your family or your friends to instigate a celebration. I picked my 16 year old son up at his bakery job. He presented me with a ToGo cup with "Happy Birthday" in highlighter pen across the lid. As I entered the gym on that morning, I swiped my card, and presto, a small tune emitted from the computer and an electronic voice said, "Happy Birthday." The reception staff turned their heads, and chorused the same sentiment then turned back to their work. After that, to work and nary a mention was made. My boss whispered a "Happy Birthday" in passing. She had extended a dinner invitation, which I gratefully accepted. When, after being asked what I wanted for supper, I replied with "rib eye", she let me know that my husband eschewed red meat and that wouldn't be fair. Wait a minute, whose birthday is this anyway? I got my plate of rib eye. I have decided that this is the last year of miserable birthdays. I will be 50 in 2008 and have decided to go home and celebrate properly. If you read self pity into this entry, there's plenty! Unfortunately the situation was of my own doing.

As of today, I will pledge that, like Scrooge,  "I will honor birthdays in my heart, and try to keep them all the year." In honor of Olga's birthday, I am mimicking her birthday photo. The beads are a gift from my coworker, Connie.

Big Mac Attack

After having bid adieu to my Dell, I headed to our town geek shop and had them cobble together a working PC out of three that I had. It worked for a while. Then my Nano died and I was given a replacement Nano a few days prior to my warranty running out. The Apple folk impressed me so much that I decided to take the plunge.
Yesterday FedEx delivered a refurbished iMac, a 24" wonder. I have been engrossed ever since I opened the box.
I think that I am a convert! The machine has only one plug, no unsightly wires. I plugged in my printer, and it said, "Yup, looks like an HP," and proceeded to function as a printer should, immediately!
Tomorrow, actual knitting content.

Hell...All's Swell That Ends Well...Sometimes

I tell you what; the fun never ends here in my little corner.

Patti’s poor sick Dell
The black Dell that served me well
Rest in peace dear Dell

Enough with the bad haiku, my electronic angst continues with a Nano that will also be put to rest along with my Dell. Perhaps I should buy my electronics in happier colors. On a more cheerful note, my hero at the computer shop a few doors down was able to cobble together a working desktop using parts from the Dell, a new hard drive, DVD/CD burner and some extra memory and my sons CPU. I am operational and that makes me happy.

In the spirit of black, here are pair socks for your viewing pleasure. This pattern can be found here. Look for the Horcrux socks. I have knit several of Susan’s socks, always a pleasure. The yarn is Debbie Bliss Cashmerino Aran in, what else, black! Connie stitched the roses onto the heels using silk ribbon, a nice touch, don’t you think? She was also kind enough to stand on the railroad track behind the shop and model.
There are some new projects on the needles, but I will save these for another post.
Happy Friday all!

No Connectivity

Patti without Dell

Makes blogging complicated

Please, make the Dell well!

The Last Word

I suppose that I should explain my earlier cryptic post. Those of you with children will understand.
My son may have made a poor choice (or not), it depends on who you believe. As always there are 2 sides to the story. I am not ignorant of the fact that children lie by omission or outright. I now know that it takes strength to love unconditionally. Objectivity is difficult to maintain. The fallout from this episode was fast and final. I run the movie through my head with a thousand different scenarios to see if it could have played out differently. We all wanted a happy ending. Unfortunately, life isn't always accommodating.
This is my way of letting go and moving on. When I heard this poem read, I immediately fell under its spell. Enjoy…

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch.  And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop