knit and tonic

Universal Rule #234

Hey, what can I say?

I suppose after the smashing success of Ms. Swingcoat--I'll show you when I get a chance to shampoo and put on regular clothes--I absolutely had to knit up a loser. It's a good thing it only took a couple hours.

And to think I planned on adding a bill to the brim of this cap.

Edited to Add: Check out the Winners Gallery for a sneak peak of the Madame Swing Coat (it is shown with a stolen faux fur collar, but it's fab without it too, honestly, it is, and I can't wait to share it with you. I Googled "fake fur detachable collars" and came up with nothin' much, so if you want one, start searching. Believe me: I'm searching, too, because I want another one...)

In Search of Buttons

I was "this far" from going to the Salvation Army or Marshall's and rifling through the sale bins for garments with buttons. I don't normally complain about stuff, but come on, Button-Sellers: Do you really think I'm going to fall for the Four-Dollar for Two-Buttons-a-Card Charade at the local, cigarette-smoke ridden and understocked Jo-Ann's?

This morning, I was desperate for 10 buttons. But after about an hour's worth of scouring the Wall of Buttons and discovering that every, single time I found a button I liked that there were maybe only six or eight available, I was down, down, down. Add to that, the buttons would cost me more than the entire swing coat I'm knitting. And let's face it friends: I will probably only wear it once or twice (once for a pic and another hopeful extra two times. Yeah, I know, not good news for pattern sales but, heck. At least I tell the truth.)

I'm not going to try to kid you: We don't get much of a chance to wear knitted items out here (not news to you anymore), but the other not-kidding part of the message is this: I'm such a crappy finisher that if I dared to wear my stuff out in public, wanton older ladies while in line behind me for coffee or a bunch of radishes or a jug of Chablis--the wonderful ones with at least seven grandchildren and a knack for all things needle-ish--would likely reach out and touch my seam ever just so, you know, just enough to nudge
me into a moment of embarrassment and then my asking politely:

"Would you like to fix my sweater?...I mean, I do like to knit and I'm good at it and all, but give me a needle and some yarn to finish the garment and I fall to pieces!...And I can tell just by looking at you, you'd do a great job because my grandma, well, she has a similar hairstyle, and you wanna know something? One time, she did a heck of a job darning a pair of my lace thong panties."

"Maam! Wait! They were Dior, you know, so obviously, you must understand...And I think I made a public statement some time back that I'm finished with those...honestly..."

BTW: I managed to add one pic to the gallery, the first Sahara I've seen so far, except for the three samples we knit originally. It's gorgeous, and Tammy looks great in it. Other news, I sent in the last of my 10 patterns. That means, I have 15 down and another 10 to go, not counting the non-pattern text.

Oh and yeah, the swing coat isn't looking so swingy. That has more to do with the fact that I slept with it lastnight and with the fact that I haven't yet steamed the heck out of it. You gotta do that with the cotton, I tell you what.

Less is More?

Used to be, a rocks glass or maybe a coffee can and a bunch of daisies or maybe something else on the cheap would brighten up my home. All I had to do is add that little bit of color and the place would be transformed.

Now that I've moved into a few thousand square feet and ceilings in excess of, oh, I don't know, maybe two stories, it takes a heck of a lot more to cheer up the joint.

We have sunshine to go around. My old apartment(s) had little. We can run laps in this place. I used to move furniture so I could do a few sit-ups.

I used to be able to pack up and move in a day.

Now, it would take me a day to figure out how to pack or where to start.

Even that cheap-o toilet paper I buy. The one with all the miles of squares. Even that seems a bit rough these days. Yeah, I know; it's ironic. I'm facing all the space and all the junk, yet I'm yearning for a roll that has a bit fewer squares and costs a bit more money (it's nicer and you can blow your nose without it falling apart, too).

Speaking of squares. This is one I'm sending to Mamma-E for Project Compassion. I know that a lot of you don't crochet, but I find it to be oddly comforting. It could be because I'm a child of the early 60's (and experienced the crochet and macrame movement full force in the 70's), but honestly, I like how simple crocheting is, and how easily I can produce a square. If I were to knit a square, it would only be a "square." Let's face it, I might knit like all get out, but I'm no expert.

Which brings me to this. The Updated Girlfriend's Swing Coat. It's truly updated and it doesn't look like Girlfriend's. I hope you're not too disappointed. Thing is, that shape is for the little ones and us bigger ones probably shouldn't be adding all that swingy bulk-action to the midsection or hip area.

I figure, unless you're channeling Lucille Ball and can bob and weave here and there with long, narrow cheeky feet and sport a feathered cocktail hat along with a crazy bright pink boa, you have no business wearing a sized-up Girlfriend's Swing Coat.

Right now, I'm on the fence with the thing. I have promised myself I won't finish the sleeves until I find 10 perfect buttons for the outside, and 5 perfect buttons for the inside. (It's double-breasted.)

On the Road to Normal

So tonight, we're sitting there watching The Learning Channel and learning about some regular guy who is studying how to do some professional dancing and HWWV says to me, from out the blue:

"You know, that guy, he looks just like the guy who used to design for Christian Dior."

I say: "You mean that guy with the fan, the one who lost all the weight?"

"No," he says, "Not that guy. The one you're thinking about is the guy who designs for Chanel."

"So", I say, " The one you're talking about looks like the guy who worked for La Croix?"

"NO!...the  guy who works for La Croix looks like your everyday white guy. The one I'm talking about worked for Dior and doesn't look anything like the guy from La Croix. And, he doesn't wave a fan, either."

Such relief. (Thanks for all your condolences. Things at home are getting better.)

BTW: I have decided to re-work the Girlfriend Swing Coat into an adult version. All that talk about the Cabo Hoodie becoming an adult version got me thinking about which one to do first. I am super busy, but since I have some Expresso Blue Sky Cotton in my stash (from Kpixie.com), I thought I'd just cast on and see if I can finish it by Sunday.

The Cabo Hoodie

I think you remember the hoodie I made for Girlfriend, the one she wore to the zoo the other day. I originally used Malabrigo, but my friends at One Planet Yarn & Fiber asked me if I would write the pattern for them, using a new yarn they are carrying by Lanas Puras.

The Cabo Hoodie is ready and it is unisex and sized from 2 to age 12. There are two versions, a long sleeve and a short sleeve. If you purchase the pattern and the yarn from One Planet Yarn and Fiber, they are offering a 10 percent discount. (But you have to input the word: CABO when you check out. Also know that the discount applies to any other Lanas Puras yarn you buy, too.)

They are asking me to do an adult version but I'm so busy right now. We'll see how things go and I'll let you know if I do it. The yarn, the Lanas Puras Melosa, is amazingly soft and the colors are great.

Other news: I have been adding to the reader gallery, and still have a pile of photos to add. I'll plug away at that as quickly as I can but I feel like I'm dragging through mud today. My fish Myrtle dropped dead this morning. I mean, she didn't literally drop, or anything, although she always had a tendency to hang out at the bottom of the bowl and rest on the rocks. But when I went to the bowl to give it the usual nudge to get her to snap out of it, she just lay there. Ugh.

And it's not like I wasn't expecting it, because she's been hanging by a thread for months. I guess all the fishy antibiotics and periodic bowl nudges weren't enough to keep her alive.

It's all in a day, my friends. It's all in a day. (Oh, but things might be looking up. The gal who does an entire routine on the treadmill--the routine that for some reason doesn't include turning the thing on--is back, and she has a buddy. Also, the boxing dude, the one who actually turns on the treadmill, but manages a full-on boxing routine while it is running, moved to the exercise bike. Heh heh.)

Random Fact: Mickey Rooney Kissed my Mom Once

The last time someone tried a pick-up line on me was so long ago I can't even remember.  Come to think of it, half the time I'd be at a bar or club with a certain girlfriend, I'd get approached constantly, but the pick-up line was always, "Who's your friend?"

No one ever gives me the old "helllllooo..." look. In fact, even in my more youthful days, no one ever tried to pick up on me, either. My mom used to theorize that it was the way I held my gaze or the way I walked. She said, the way I held myself meant, "don't mess with me," and that this particular posture would mean no one would approach me unless they were somehow drunk or delusional.

Her theory proved true.

After tucking Girlfriend into the backseat after a quick visit to the LYS, a guy--a real humdinger of a Mickey Rooney type--probably 83 or more, pulled up and honked at me, "Toot! Toot!"

He gestures me over to his side of the car, manually rolls down the window really fast, and says:

"Where's the closest B of A?"

"I don't know," I say. "The only one I think I know of is about three blocks away, and I can't be sure, because I don't bank there..."

A little snicker and then a botched innuendo/joke about B of A and then: "...An angel fell out of the sky when you were borrrrrrrn!"

(Ugh.)..."Heh. Well, just turn right and get on that freeway over there; make a right on..."

"...And you look exhausted, honey...you must have been up verrrry late last night....."

So after a quick scoot and a giant leap into my side of the car, while speeding away, I took off my sunglasses for a look in the rear view mirror. Today, a dirty old man told me I looked tired.

Truth is, I am tired. But a good kind of tired, I think. I finished number nine for the you-know and today I'm writing out number 10. I also got the fever lastnight to celebrate and knit a quickie one-hour cap for Girlfriend. It took only one ball of Artful Yarns Reality and I used size 11 double points. (Cast on 60 sts, do a few rounds of rib, knit until it's long enough, do a few rounds of k2tog's until you have just a few sts left, run a tapestry needle and thread through the stitches, fasten off and plop a pom pom on top.)

The other yarn is Tahki Cotton in assorted colors. It was on sale for two bucks and heck, two buck yarn is about as good as anything gets. I think Girlfriend will get a draw-string skirt out of it when I find the time.

Fluffy Scarves and Knitting Fever

If someone paid me a dime for every time I saw the 10:30 a.m. Spinning Class Instructor pass by me, wearing her fluffy eyelash scarf and matching red clogs, I would be able to afford at least three or maybe four Grande Non-Fat Soy Latte's with a shot of sugar-free vanilla syrup, no foam.

Today's pics are sort of a re-run of yesterday's. There were all manner of items to photograph today, honestly, but I didn't have my camera ready while I was sweating it out on the treadmill and she passed by me for the many-eth time and added to the coffee till.

I spotted two other hand-knit fluffy scarves, too, one a baby pink and another black/white variegated. These were worn by the gals who regularly attend the water aerobics class. At first I didn't understand why all of a sudden a couple of the water pupils were wearing the same type scarf as the Spinning Class teacher, but then I went and got a schedule and noticed that the Spinning Teacher teaches the Water Aerobics class, too. (Now that I think of it, I've seen her poolside, wearing her Speedo Swimsuit and flip-flops, performing the moves on the water's edge. I wonder, first of all, if they pipe music into that pool room, and why doesn't she just get into the water? The third thing I wonder is if she has worn her fluffy hand-knit scarf to class or if maybe her class-takers just spot her like I do, all jaunty with the eyelash.)

Knitting is like a landslide that way. I spotted Bonne Marie's Noro Vest (a version if her Mondo Cable) the other day and what did I do? I immediately went to the LYS and bought four skeins of the Silk Garden just in case I got the urge to knit a vest like hers.

(Koong Koong died this morning.)

BTW: I didn't get pattern number nine done today; I took HWWV out to lunch, instead. But I did want to mention Project Compassion; visit them and find out about their cause (It has to do with knitting or crocheting blankies for people who have experienced loss or a traumatic event. They gather squares for the cause, and I have been dreaming of crocheting a square, actually).

BTW/BTW: Oh, and the doggie Labrador pictured here. His name is Woody. My neighbor has him at home now but can't keep him. I needed to hug him nice and hard because I don't know if I'll see him again.

Bye, Koong Koong

Any excuse to wear the knitted knits, I tell you: Today the wind was blowing and there were cool-er temps so we went to the local junior college zoo-center and had a look at the Toucans, the Macaws and one Lioness who gave me a look that I will never forget (I should have taken notes, because, heck, I could use a few of those kind of moves).

I knit the sweater Girlfriend is wearing awhile back, and since then, I wrote up a unisex pattern that will be available sometime this week (ages 2 to 12). The pattern will use Lanas Puras Yarns from One Planet Yarn and Fiber, and although I used the Malabrigo for Girlfriend's version, the sample I knitted for One Planet in the Lansas Puras was less pill-y and I'm thinking it will stand up to kid-use a bit better than the former.

It's strange that I'm wearing my grandmother's coat today. I tried it on years ago, back when her husband, my grandpa Herman--the nudie sculptor and wannabe Hugh Hefner--had just died. We went into her closet after the funeral and she tearfully handed things out. I tried on this orange leather number and thought at first that it was entirely too roomy and too western-looking, but I didn't want to offend, and I brought it home. It has been hanging in my closet ever since.

But today, after I wore my grandmother's coat for the first time, and we smiled and laughed and drank wine and played video games at the local barbecue joint, we got a phone call from HWWV's mom, who lives at least a 20-plus hour plane trip away. His grandpa, her father, is dying and he won't live through the week.

Think of what it must be like to be so far away (and how we were none the wiser this whole day, week, month, or whatever).

I didn't see my mom the week that she died, either.

And I'm so happy to have my grandmother's orange leather coat.

My husband is sort of a mystery in many ways. Tonight he is crying. Although I haven't shown you a picture of him, I want you to see Koong Koong (his grandpa). He's so grand, really, and I remember when we got married that he told my dad stories of sacks of money and wild sports cars and how he'd cruise here and there in his Bugatti. My dad, when he was visiting HWWV's country for our wedding, told me he thought Koong Koong was crazy, but I checked with Auntie Pat (Koong Koong's daughter) and she reports it is all fact and shoot, I sat down with him during the daytime soaps and believed his stories and thankfully took time to understand.

Koong Koong's wife (the one in the blue; my mother-in-law's mom) who passed years and years ago was pretty special. I'm thinking HWWV got his sparkle from her, and somehow, someway, her taste in sunglasses threaded its way to me, a white, mid-western girl who now lives in California and has terrible stage fright.

BTW: I have completed 7 out of the 10 patterns that need to be ready for Feb 1. Tomorrow will be a big day of work and a big day of sadness in this household. Girlfriend never met her great grandfather and, well, my husband hasn't seen him in 10 years, either.

On Fun Fur

Someone come on over with a rubber band, a wet noodle, or one of those electronic things that zap you to death for a few seconds.

I just found myself searching for "Fur Yarn" on the Internet.

Swatches, Ugh.

I just heard from a gal who didn't swatch for her Le Slouch (see Gallery) and she ended up with something more like "Le Tight," or "Le Snug."

I never used to swatch, but now I do. I guess it's because I need to prove to someone (my tech editor named Sue who is so great) that I actually did get a certain number of stitches and rows per inch and that's how I arrived at the so-and-so calculation. But truth be told, if I didn't really have to swatch, I wouldn't.

I like to dream that I have that sort of je ne sais quoi that those in the know really know, means I'm some sort of a witch and can tell, by the sheer weight, girth and color of the ball, hank, skein or cake, what the fabric will be like and how many stitches there will be, regardless of needle size and if the random number that gets cast on will actually fit around what I'd like to be a smaller chest. (Please, don't bug me about this comment; I'm probably the only female in L.A. who honestly wants a small chest.)

I guess that's why I never really made it as a stained-glass artist. I tried; I really, really tried, but I tell you what, I don't care if someone is holding a half-lit Molotov cocktail under my be-hind, because, and I promise you this: There'd be no way in heck I could cut a straight line. (And anyway, Chanel doesn't make Safety Glasses.)

Straight lines and good swatches just aren't meant to be with me. So I'll try and I'll try, and I guess I'll take what I can get. I figure, if I worked too hard on the swatch, the sweater that comes later will be wonky like all get out. Because, let's face it, no one wants to spend too much energy on a swatch when the sweater is what really counts.

Call me crazy for the backwards logic. But we all have our thing. And I figure, if I spend too much time thinking about stitches per inch, I'll go mad and then I'll never finish the book, and I won't wake up tomorrow, either. (Plus, I'm sick. Girlfriend brought home a nasty flu-ish cold thing and I'm pounding the Zinc so I can keep going.)

BTW: If you look closely at the picture, this cable thingy is supposed to be woven. Notice how I messed up and only one side is crossed? Heh. I guess it doesn't really matter that much, in the end. I just know that I know the stitches and rows per inch and that I just love the Karabella Magrite (merino and cashmere). I'm a sucker for that kind of thing, even though the swatch is a total failure on fire.