Beautiful Boy

Sometimes they make you want to curl up and cry, but mostly, they just take your breath away.

Fibre Festival Envy

There is no shortage of farmland in this, the most densely populated area of Canada. Some of those farms even raise fleece bearing animals: sheep, goats and alpacas. But, despite the presence of fibre farms, there is nothing like the massive fibre festivals in the US that are starting now and run through the fall.

Two weeks ago was the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. Last weekend was the Yankee Shepherd Sheep & Wool Festival in New Hampshire. Next weekend is the Massachusetts Sheep & Woolcraft Fair. Later, in October, the fibre festival affectionately known as Rhinebeck will be taking place in Rhinebeck, NY.

And these are just some of the big names in fibre festivals, and just some of the ones up in the north east! Fibre festivals from Conneticutt to New Mexico happen from April to October, with just about each state represented.

Around here, fibre festivals aren't such a big deal. Most fibre producers end up in a corner of county fair demoing spinning to kids who wonder why anyone would ever bother spinning up yarn by hand when you can just buy your socks down at the Giant Tiger.

I've been going to the Norfolk County Fair, which happens on Canadian Thanksgiving weekend every fall, for going on eight years now and I've been shocked that the fibre portion of the fair was little more than poster boards and baskets holding two or three ounces of raw fibre. This past year was the first year that anyone was actually selling any fibre and I bought some beautiful rich brown llama fleece. There were a few hanks of handspun, but I thought I'd give spinning a try - one of these days.

I actually bought a whole fleece from a shearing demo. It is a totally raw, unskirted fleece, including lots of vegetation, yellowed and matted unuasable fibre. The staple length (how long the actual individual hairs of the fleece are) were too short to be usable for spinning. I had good intentions of washing and plucking the fleece and using it to stuff toys and/or pilows. I'd be rich if I followed through on all my good intentions! I thought I could wash and sell it in lots on eBay, as well, to people looking for stuffing fleece. Oh well.

I just love fibre. Just as beginning knitters often make poor choices of yarns, so too the beginning fibre nut must buy unusable fleeces to let molder.

On a recent drive, my stepdad took Kieran and I past a farmstead that had a large pack of alpacas, an emu or two, a couple of goats and I don't know what else. There was no farm name that I could see and a scouring of the search engines didn't produce any information about the farm at that address.

"They must be producing fibre!" I exclaimed to my mum and stepdad. "Why on earth would a farm in Ontario have a pack of alpacas! They're like fancy mules! They don't do anything except haul stuff around and produce fibre."

If they were producing fibre, who were they? Did they sell their fibre to locals? Was there some sort of retail operation, brick and mortal or digital, that might offer their wares? For all the inexpensive Uraguayan wool and fancy Japanese blends, I think most fibre freaks would love to be able to support their local producers. It's good for the environment, for the economy and for the soul. How was I to break through the mystery that kept me form the fibre of the animals in my neighbourhood?

If only there were a festival.

Lo and behold, there is!

The Grimsby Fleece and Fibre Festival is happening in Grimsby Ontario on May 28. There are going to be shearing, spinning and weaving demos, cooking demos and lots of fibre producing animals on hand to entertain the kids. There will also be fibre!

Maybe I can finally get someone to show me how to spin on a spindle? Maybe there will be beautiful yarns to buy. I want to get there early enough to enjoy the lamb sausages for lunch!

Anyone else interested?

Mother's Day Stash Enhancement

I know you're all dying to know how I spent my Mother's Day. Right? A week later you want to know right?

I know, it's OK, I can hear you.

We went up to Port Dover so that we could visit Sean's mother's grave and spend a little time with Sean's Dad (and later, with his sister). While we were up there, Sean was kind enough to take me to a Len's Mill Store.

Now, most of the yarn at Len's Mill is pretty crappy. Patons and Bernat acrylics of all weights and textures. They carry a couple of unexpected beauties, though.

While I wasn't interested in the impossibly small and expensive balls of Lily Chin, I was drawn to the Schoeller & Stahl Fortissima Socka. I bought about a dozen balls of in the various Mexico lines (Origianl Mexico, Mexico Denim and Mexico Safari) as well as a pair of Sockino Balls and a ball of blue for heels and toes. I always buy solid balls to do toes and heels to stretch out the patterned ball. Then, I can knit decent sized socks without worrying about running out of yarn and having to settle for crew socks.


I also bought a couple balls of craft cotton, at a higher price than I normally would. I figured the yarn was worth the higher cost if I'd never seen the colours available anywhere else. I bought four cool coloured balls to make a few more washcloths for myself. Washcloths are the perfect mindless knitting project for travelling in the car or sitting at the park with Kieran.


There is nothing so wonderful as buying yarn!

My stash is happier, though my husband just doesn't get the stashing instinct of knitters. Of course, i never understood why he requires a couple thousand CDs, his collection of a couple hundred Grateful Dead shows on cassette (which we don't have the means to play anymore, no longer owning a working cassette player) or a few hundred pieces of vinyl (though, to be honest, I'm reluctant to part with the vinyl myself).

When the mama's happy, everybody's happy!

New Writing Gig

There are some times in life when many people with different needs come together serendipitously (I just made that Up, I think! Good word, though!) and walk away with a perfect solution.

Take for example, the summer of 1987. I was 16 and miserable from breaking up with my the first man who told me he loved me (sigh!). My father wasn't looking forward to having me loaf around the house, sucking up the household resources, sitting on my duff and bored out of my mind, so he suggested I do something with my time.

"You need to get a job. You're 16, now. You need to get out there and start making your own money," he said in his stern way. To be fair, unless I got a job, it was guaranteed that I would burn through my $20 bi-weekly allowance in seconds flat and pester him continuously for more. And more money to throw at a bored teenager was not something my family had.

I didn't understand this, and even if I'd known that this was his reason for trying to motivate me into employment, I'm pretty damn sure my response would be, "Whatever you say, Dad."

"You're not going to get a job just sitting around, you know," he would nag me. "You have to go out and find a job. They don't just fall into your lap."

"Sure, Dad, ahuh."

And, I never bothered to look for a job.

But, that didn't matter, because the jobs were about to start falling and my lap was there waiting.

The first job I got was with a family that lived up the road from me. They needed a nanny for the summer to watch their 6 month old baby and 4 year old boy.

Come September, the woman I worked for told me that her mother needed an evening attendant at a laundromat. That was my second job.

When I had enough of making change and cleaning out washing machines, my aunt, who was the manager at our local McDonald's, offered me a job there. Being far too anti-authoritatrian, I chose to leave McD's, and their rigid regimentation, after a couple of months.

I immediately began work at a catering company where a couple of friends worked. It was a great weekend job. You go in on a Friday or Saturday after school and hop in the van to go set up a catring job. You hang in the kitchen during the event and then pack the van up with dirty dishes and leftovers around 9 or 10pm.

Back at the catering company, all the students loaded the dirty dishes into the basement where we washed and stacked them. Ever spent 4 or 5 hours with your hands on glass and plates that just emerged, a mere second ago, from an industrial dish washer? Not fun. Really, really hot stuff.

That job was such a blast, though!

There was a guy who would make up a Morrissey/Smiths song based on any subject in the world and sing them while the rest of us tried to control our bladders. We'd take breaks after all the adult staff left and go sit in the cooler eating pies with a single slice removed or squirting canned whipped cream into our mouths. And, when we were finished, often between 3 or 5am, depending on how many caterings there were, we would take home the leftovers: half a ham or roast of beef for someone's Sunday night supper, a massive wheel of cheddar with a 1/4 wedge removed, that sort of thing.

Eventually, I stopped working at the catering company as my social life started taking on greater priority. I was starting to hate hearing how I had missed out on a great party, or how my girlfriends were meeting cool guys from other schools. Eventually, a teenager has to decide whether drinking, boys and recreational drugs were more important than financial independance and employment experience.

As if there was any real choice!

Now, many years later, employment stills falls in my lap, on occasion. Of course, sometimes it's not all good. And sometimes, it's great.

Recently, I ran into a neighbourhood mum at the park. She went to school with my sister so we already had a connection that formed the basis of lots of fun and supportive conversations across park equipment. At a recent outing, she told me that she'd read one of my weekly restaurant reviews. It turns out that she and her husband run and online business for which they need good, ongoing content regarding entertaining. Was I interested?

Was I?!

Walking home together from the park, we ran into her husband. We sat down and had a little chat. By the time I left their house to walk Kieran home for lunch, I had a new writing gig!

You can read my first piece, about group gift ideas for retirees.

Happy Mother's Day

A little late, but with no less love in my heart. Happy Mother's Day to my beautiful mother.


My mother and I, Gage Park, Hamilton Ontario, Summer 1971.

ETA: I was just talking to my mum about this photo. Apparently, this was taken on Mother's Day, 1971, making me just under 3 months old. It is the first day I laughed out loud. My mother is wearing "crimpoline" shorts in tourquiose blue, my favourite colour. "I used to walk you to Gage Park every day, just to get out of the house. You were so small, then. I would just sit in the park with you. It was cool there."

The Office Finale (Season 2)

OK, I don't usually talk about the TV shows I watch much. But I just have to put this out there:

When Jim told Pam he loved her, wanted to be more than friends, and then later found her in the office and kissed her, it felt like I was Pam.

My heart is fluttering even now when I think of it.

I stayed up until 1am so that I could watch the episode a second time on a Seattle station.

I think I might have to download a BitTorrent of the show an just replay the Jim and Pam scenes till I can fully process them.

Wow.

This is the reason people spend insane amounts of money on DVRs.

Such A Heel!

All of you folks with depression will understand this, especially any depressed knitters amongst you gentle readers: one of the things that is causing me little manic panic fits is that I cannot pick out a heel to put in my knitted socks!

I started some top down socks and did a short row (Sherman) heel and didn't much like it. It ended up sloppy and I dropped a stitch - which I didn't discover until I was finishing the cuff of the second sock. The toe required a Kitchener stitch close across the top of the toes and it's ugly as suck.

So, I'm going to frog those ones.

In the meantime, I started a toe-up pair. The toe is a little on the broad side and the entire thing is magically too big for my foot - despite obsessive gauge counts, 10% negative ease factored into the pattern and rock solid sock math. No worries, I decided to go with a K3P2 rib for the top of the foot (and the cuff, when I get there).

The problem is that I'm now stuck on the heel. I don't like the short rows and the other heels I'm finding are written for much different stitch counts (the one I like most is a heel done over 28 stitches, but I have to do mine over about 36 stitches) and I don't know how to convert the numbers - there are no hints given about how the numbers in the pattern were arrived at.

One of my pet peeves is that more patterns aren't written as recipes. Especially because socks are so variable (everyone's foot measurements and fit preferences are different - I have massive big feet and like a reasonably tight fit, myself. I challenge all designers of all knitted items to design patterns not so that people can duplicate your initial creation, but so that they can better control the yarn and fit.

What I'd like to know is, wise and gentle readers, what are your favourite heel styles? What's your favourite toe? Do you prefer top down or toe up?

I'd like to find a favourite combo of toes and heels and be able to knit a sock for myself or someone else from memory (with a little number crunching where appropriate to establish the right guage). My sanity is at stake here!

Crashing

You may have noticed that the posts have been spotty lately. And I haven't been writing any essay-style posts. I'm guessing that is what most of you enjoy most about coming here: my unique take on motherhood and life in general. Well, I hope that you enjoy that.

I havent' been able to do any writing lately, though. In fact, I haven't been able to do much of anything except, perhaps, eat.

I feel like I am crashing and that the crash is pretty big.

There are a lot of things that I can't seem to get done, big and little. I can't even reply to simple emails, even to dear friends. I can't seem to do anything constructive. I'm supposed to be launching a business and I can't do anything productive about it. I can't do any housework.

I'm having trouble getting out of the house. I'm having trouble thinking straight. I'm putting things off until they become freakishly large problems.

I don't have a job and I don't have medical coverage so paying for meds is not easy.

I feel like there is a wall, just a garden wall, about chest high, that is preventing me form connecting to anything. Behind the wall is food and sock knitting and sci-fi paperbacks, movies and blogs and it's just easier, right now, to hang out on this side.

Gosh, that doesn't make much sense, does it? It accurately descirbes my mental landscape, though. And, if I don't talk about it somewhere, I feel as if I will go completely crazy.

That's Me!

Strategy Guide For The Stanley Cup Widow

You see that story up there? It's in Chatelaine magazine, a Canadian women's magazine a bit like a more sophisticated Ladies Home Journal. And, I'm in the story! You'll find me on the second page of the article. I'm the knitter!

Cool, eh?

They are sending me a copy of the magazine, but you know I'm going to have to go buy a half dozen to give away to family and friends!

Now, I have to go and cry a little in the corner, because my beloved Canadiens de Montreal were beat out of the first round of the playoffs last night by the Carolina Hurricanes. And off a freak OT goal, too! Woe is me!

True Tales of Language In Canada
The Canadiens go by the nickname "the Habs" in English speaking Canada - short for Les Habitants - but in French speaking Canada they are referred to as Le Tricolore - the three colours - for the blue, white and red of their uniforms.

Look What Rosemary Knit!

Go here and see what Rosemary of Rosemary Knits made. She has taken inspiration from my Circular Shrug pattern and made her own version. She used this lace pattern from See Eunny Knit! for the main body, creating a beautiful lacy shrug.

Anyone else got a link to their shrug?