GASP!

Okay - I'm up for air.

I have been totally submerged in Ravelry. Totally. I know.. this usually happens right after you sign up. But I was good. A little here. A little there. Add to my wips. Then I discovered the forums. Totally addicting. I don't get a whole lot of adult conversation as a SAHM of 3. It sort of comes in spats with my husband, when he is home and conscious enough to have a conversation of any length. Ah, but Ravelry.... I can talk about yarn. I can talk about religion, or the lack of it. I can talk about Harry Potter, or the Princess Bride, or my new love for the design world of Elizabeth Zimmerman. I can talk about lace, I can talk to designers about how I might get something I'm working on actually published. I can talk politics, or I can talk about the home. Instant conversation. Lovely. Dangerous. Time sucking vortex... ahhhh.... must escape pull of black hole....

Whew.

I think I just missed the event horizon there.

Anyway, realizing that Friday was the official start of spring, it is time to re-enter life and actually pick up my knitting needles again (and maybe clean the house).

So Happy Spring Everyone!



And Happy Easter as well. Enjoy a beautiful day. I promise I won't disappear for so long any time soon.



Just for fun, check out the new apocalypse....

Can I get you some Asbestos with that?

For those of you following the saga of my parents home, ravaged by rain and the stupidity (lazyness?) of a roofer, there is yet another development. For anyone who knows us, you know that my father is a "collector." Many people might be moved to say pack rat, but we can all agree that there are many layers to the things in my parents home. Many. So many that it is taking more than two weeks to pack up their home by professional packers. And more than 1200 boxes. They haven't even started on the garage. 

I can't quite get by that one yet. 1200 boxes. Not done yet. Head explodes. Pick up pieces. 

Well, as if that weren't enough, true to form for this house, whenever you poke a hole in its walls it reveals a string of dirty secrets that end up costing huge money. Thankfully, this time the insurance company will be dealing with that end this time, because now they have found asbestos in the ceiling. That's right folks. Tearing down walls, ceilings, and floors is not enough. Now we have a Hazardous Waste Clean up to boot. Joy.

I am so glad that I'm not living there. And equally glad that my parents had insurance to cover this and a hotel room for 3 months. I keep thinking about how tight my house would have been with everyone living here. My kids were all gung ho on the idea. They LOVED the idea of Nana and Papa staying in their very own home. Treats would fall from trees, and movies would play day and night. I certainly wouldn't have minded... but it would have been tight. And very little quiet or privacy for my parents. 

But seriously, I keep telling my mom that this is a really good thing, in disguise. Now, perhaps, they will find the last of the skeletons in the closet. The things that really need fixing will get fixed, and not hidden behind the walls. The floors needed replacing, especially the carpets, and everything will be clean and new - in a few months. Oh, and my brother actually moved out! Figures it would take a catastrophe to move him out of his black hole paradise. A young man without a job, and a substantial savings account could not have asked for a better set up than what my brother had. Complete autonomy. A dark room for him to hide from the daylight in. Food at his fingertips. No restrictions to his time. Computer/internet access. TV and stereo system. And, bonus, a girlfriend who didn't mind that he didn't have a job to speak of. Hehe. I love my brother. Not many people could understand why he was so content. But in my secret heart of hearts, I knew exactly why he isn't so keen on finding a job that would dictate his sleeping schedule and thought processes. Sigh. But the other half of me is terribly excited for my parents that he is moved out, and they now actually  have a house to themselves. Well, they will, once it is finished. And then watch out! If I know my parents it will be a 2nd (or maybe 4th... 5th...) honeymoon. 

Ahhh, love.  Oh, and would you like some asbestos with that?

 

Finito!

That's right. Done. Stick. A. Fork. In. 'Em. Done.

I have finished the V.2 of the Monkey socks for my Dear MIL. I began these socks sometime last July? Eh, somewhere in the middle there. I had nearly completed them for my MIL birthday in August (Grumble) When I discovered that they did not fit over her heel. It has been a long process. I knew I had to rip those socks. I made myself a promise that I would not work on any other socks until these were done.

Snort.













That kinda back fired in that I didn't work on ANY socks at all. For months. Finally, sometime in February I bit the bullet, pulled back the sock I was working on and began to rework the sock. I had decided to make the heel flap stretchier, and a bit longer, hoping that that would fix the problem. And that went well. I really enjoy the heel, odd as that might sound considering that most people complain about that part more than any other. I just find it exiting to see a tube turn into a sock. But as I was working my way down the foot, it occurred to me that maybe the problem wasn't with the heel at all... maybe I was measuring the length of the foot wrong... maybe, jut maybe, I needed to make the foot longer.













I measured the socks in my house, measured my feet, and came to the conclusion that I was losing nearly an inch in the what I thought was the length of the sock, and what the actual length of the sock was when someone put it on. I needed to measure from the edge of the heel flap, not from the center. Sigh. Okay. Make it longer. Then I needed to pick out the toe of the finished sock, and redo that one too. Finally, finally... done.

And I think they are beautiful. My son Brandon happily modeled the finished sock (his foot is nearly the size of his grandmothers...) and if they don't fit her this time, they are going to charity.



Happy (Belated, uh, REALLY belated) Birthday Anita!