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Archive for May 7th, 2006

This week’s knitting has been a bit thin. I hate finishing projects. I’d (almost) rather not knit than work on something I hate.

Take for example the albatross of an afghan for my dad. I decided I can’t cast on a new thing until I finish it, my Olympic sweater, and those baby pants I’m sure the kid has outgrown. Remember Olive?

(Here laying on top of Blu that I am trying to photograph)

The other night I grabbed a beer and decided to work on the flippin’ afghan. It was a good compromise, and I actually can see the end nearing. I didn’t quite complete either, and (here’s the problem) and left the bottle on the edge of the futon. Overnight. Guess what I found when I woke up? A beer-soaked non-washable afghan courtesy of Olive the cat.

Here’s another Olive shot, in case there’s someone out there that doesn’t think she’ll give me a heart attack one day:

Don’t ask how she got on the roof, and why she’d get up there only to be too freaked out to come down.

Here’s the real knitting problem, and the point of my post today:

See where the leaf is pointing? I can’t keep holes from forming on the gussets of socks. I’ve tried picking up oodles of stitches on the flap, and picking up just a few. I’ve tried twisting the stiches on these anklets:

but I still have a big ol’ hole. Any suggestions?? I don’t want to make the other bumblebee sock with a hole, too.

In an unrelated note, I’m gearing up for Dye-o-Rama. My secret pal has been super-nice, and I’m trying to learn from her how to be good to my swappee. And then, look what I found in the garden:

Dye practice to come this afternoon!

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(This is going to start off non-knitting related, but it will get there, I think)

Early this week I was caught in a whirlwind of job stuff. Normally, I sit at my desk in the back office and do one of the most boring library jobs ever: copy cataloging. (I can’t find a description on the web that won’t make you want to stick your head in the oven. It means that mostly I download existing card catalog records and don’t often create them from scratch. Not exciting stuff, I tell you.) To keep myself from wandering into traffic, I read (a lot of) blogs and occasionally post to my own. Generally speaking, I am left alone with my mountains of books and nobody pays attention to me. It was a good, if boring, life.

This week, though, I was being trained to be a Librarian. Normally, I wouldn’t be allowed to be a librarian until I finish my MLS (in progress), but I got promoted due to a strange convergence of convenience. Basically: I was there, I’m cheap to hire since I’m still in school, and I’m already mostly trained from substituting out there. Yes, yes they were scraping the bottom of the barrel, but here I am. Regardless of the relative default status of my promotion, I am thrilled. For six (long, long) years I struggled to finish my undergrad degree wherever I could fit in a class. I worked in a wedding, a graduation and a huge move in the same week, and getting the husband through the first half of law school. At every point, being a Librarian (capital L) always seemed to be the same level of far off in my perception. I never thought it would happen, it would always be a “someday” thing.

This has been on my mind a lot this week, and (in addition to NOT having the time to read blogs at work, much less answer personal emails) has kept me from posting. Also, and in an “I’m not sure I should write about this” kind of way, I got a little scared at my site hit numbers. Now, most of the new visitors to here are the people I met at the WEBS talk (Yarn Harlot event) and later at the CT Sheep and Wool picnic. Normal people, mind you. Mostly not real strangers: I ate their food, they ate mine, even if I didn’t catch names. More than that, though. Lots more. And I got scared that I couldn’t write. Not scared in a rational way, but in an avoid the computer way. I realized it had been days since I’d even checked the Yarn Harlot site, and if I’m not even checking that? Well, there’s a problem. Then, I read Stephaine’s May Day post a few days late. (I keep thinking “I’m not going to get too personal, “I’m not going to get too personal” before I write these next words. We’ll see.) I cried, I cried a lot and long and hard, for my grandfather (PopPop) that I lost this past fall. I hadn’t cried hardly at all in the eight months since he’s been gone, and her post really…got inside me. And I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t blog and I couldn’t do anything but think of that big empty space inside.

I know that the above paragraph didn’t need to be written for anyone. I don’t need to apologize for not posting, I don’t even need to explain myself. I’ve been told by (waaay) more than one person that I care to much for what others think. In this case? I needed to get this out to move along. Next post is knitting, for sure.

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