"But what will I WEAR?"

I've been nominated for the Canadian Blog Awards in the category "Best Personal Blog". This startled me. It made me uneasy for some reason - I felt pressure. At first I was so nervous I thought, "This will no doubt result in a flurry of non-posting", but then I realised that, historically, I can't shut up. So I'm sure things will be fine.

I don't know if there's voting involved.... is there? But if there is, well I guess I wouldn't mind if you guys went over and voted for me. Just if you've got the time, only if you're not too busy. When I win my fabulous gem-studded prize I will give a very gracious acceptance speech. And I'll offer pie to all those who live close enough to come get some.

PS: Thanks for nominating me, Dave. You're so supportive....seriously. Ever since I was 12 and won a red velcro wallet in the Toronto Sun poetry contest, for which you entered my stirring "Raccoon" piece. Win or not, I owe you some pie.

Coronation of the one-eyed man.

Sab·o·tage. Pronunciation: \ˈsa-bə-ˌtäzh\ Etymology: French, from 'saboter' to clatter with sabots. 3 a: an act or process tending to hamper or hurt b: deliberate subversion

I've been troubled with headaches lately. This morning I was pressing my hands against my eyes to relieve the ache a bit, but sadly I had put my glasses down on the duvet, whence they slipped to the floor without my noticing. I squinted down at the carpet myopically, then took a step back without thinking.

Crunch.

Now my entire day is going to be wasted, first searching feeling around the catastrophically messy laundry room for my old glasses, then going to the local very-crappy-optometrist's to either get contacts or get the broken ones fixed.

But I am not only here to bore you with trivia about my day, but to bore you with updates on my crafting.

Last night I made some progress on the Cap Shawl. That is, I knitted ten rounds and tinked six after discovering two inexplicable increase errors in what should have been blissfully easy knitting.

Since that wasn't going so well, I put it down and picked up Charlotte's Christmas stocking. After a couple of hours spent on that, I realized there was a chart error and I had done about 30 minutes' worth of work in the wrong colour. So I pulled it out and did it again.

With another wrong colour.

So then I went to bed. And what I'm here to ask you is this. Is there a malevolent fairy casting her powdered glass over whatever I set my hand to? Or, to lay the blame where it most probably belongs, do you believe that your state of mind can directly affect events in your life? Do you believe that a persistent nagging suspicion of your own incompetence can, in fact, undermine your competence?

I need Tony Robbins.

You can take the girl out of UVic, but......

This box arrived at my house today, long before it was expected.



Note the pattern on the tissue. It can only mean one thing:



There IS a Doctor in the house.



And not a moment too soon.



The handknitted socks feel right at home.

================================

Oh, yeah: here's some knitting. Progress on the Log Cabin (note the colour change - such is the nature of stashbusting) and the Cap Shawl.

Togas: the New Look for Spring

Erudite Mondays at HalfSoled Boots

Volume 1, Number 3

Don't you love it when a book makes you laugh out loud? I read a lot, and over the years it's gotten harder to find something that will really crack me up. Gods Behaving Badly was so funny. Maybe it's just because I'm a Classics geek, but I LOVED this book. The premise is that the Greek gods, though no one believes in them any more, have relocated from Olympus to London. They live together in a poky house and, though they are still responsible for their traditional tasks, have begun to lose their power. They've had to take jobs to support themselves, but don't really excel at it. (Except for Aphrodite, who is in high demand as a phone-sex operator.)

400 years living in the same house have taken their toll, and the gods spend a fair bit of time sniping and backbiting each other. These are the best bits of the book, actually, and highly amusing - especially if you're familiar with the Greek pantheon. In one scene, Artemis interrupts Ares at his work. He is muttering, "This War on Terror isn't producing enough casualties. Bringing in Iran is the obvious choice, but I don't think they've got enough firepower yet. I wonder if I could somehow antagonise Japan?" And Hermes, to a mortal: "Did you shag [Apollo]? I wouldn't worry about that. Everybody shags him. Even I've shagged him. That was during a very boring decade."

The novel is centred around Artemis and Apollo, for the most part. (I liked this: Artemis was the focus of my 4th year Directed Readings course at UVic.) The other deities have roles of varying importance, although some only get a mention. Demeter appears in a rather poor light, and Hestia doesn't appear at all. It's an important omission (considering their domestic difficulties) but the worst crime is the way the author depicts Athena: as a hovering, anxious, self-important fusspot.

Aside from a few flaws, it was an enjoyable read. Hilarious in parts, thought-provoking in others. Like many novels, I felt it was off to a good start and had the scope to be about twice the length it actually is: the author is onto something. Unfortunately, the conflict resolves rather quickly, and the novel wraps up before you're quite ready to be done with it.

And as a reader, if you have to have a problem with a book, that's a good one to have.

Sadly, Almost Completely True.

The other day Mr. HalfSoledBoots wanted to exchange the sweater I bought him for Christmas* and asked me to find the receipt while he was at work. I was feeling a little emotional that day. ("What? Surely not.")

I thought I knew where it was, so I breezed into the bedroom, swept the 18" of junk off the top of my cedar chest, and propped it open. I rummaged around inside, surprised to not see the plastic bag I had expected, containing the receipts from all the Christmas presents I bought. I frowned and dug deeper, piling beside me such things as:

• the ten thank-you cards I wrote after Emily's baby shower in 2004. They are in sealed envelopes, with the recipients' names written clearly on the front so I could later add the addresses and mail them.
• a plastic grocery bag full of paper hats, streamers, and napkins from three differently-themed children's birthday parties.
• a picture frame with the glass broken in two places. Still perfectly good, waiting for me to get around to buying replacement glass for the frame WHICH I BOUGHT FOR 75% OFF AT PIER ONE IN 1999.
• 10 years' worth of negatives in slippery plastic sleeves, which slithered all over the floor.

No sign of the receipt. And what did I do, at this juncture? This is what I did. I threw myself on my bed and burst into stormy tears, sobbing bitter invective against myself as follows: "Oh, why am I such a fucking loser? Oh, why do I suck so bad? Oh, I'm a terrible wife, can't even think what to buy my husband for Christmas and when I do it's the wrong thing, then I throw away the receipt so he can't even return it. Woe is me, the world is at an end."

Actually, it's all true except that last line.

So, my children heard me crying (though I was trying to be quiet about it) and came in with concerned looks on their sweet faces, to see what was wrong. They crawled up beside me and put their smooth little arms around my neck and kissed me. Their voices were very anxious when they asked me what was wrong. I cried, "Daddy wants to take back the sweater I bought him for Christmas and I can't find the receipt. Oh I'm sorry I'm such a terrible mother, I can't do anything right."

Luckily they have experience with this type of situation and they were very kind. At first they were inclined to be indignant that Daddy didn't like the sweater, then they asked me what the receipt looked like, so they could search for it.

At that point, Em leaned over to her sister and whispered something in her ear. She sat back on her heels and said "Should we bring it? That would cheer her up." Charlotte nodded and Emily ran out of the room. Charlotte patted my hair and kissed my cheek, murmuring "you're a good mummy", just as Emily came back at a run from the living room........

.....carrying yarn.

___________________________

* Yes, I bought a sweater. Believe me, it's better this way.

Almost Forgot a Title.

Today is one of those coastal days that overwhelm newcomers and visitors by their sheer pervasive soakedness. But hey - it grows the trees that everyone admires so much. (Click to embiggen.)

Well, my respite from knitting lasted all of about 2 hours. Here is the Log Cabin Blanket, in progress:

And here are the first 18 rounds of the new lace project:

which will in time become this:

Gift certificate in hand, I went to Village Yarns' (no website) January sale the other day. I had a bit of trouble spending the money, actually - the vastness of my stash has been a weight on my chest lately, interfering with my enjoyment of it. One thing I hardly have any of, though, is laceweight. So I picked up three skeins of Zephyr Wool-Silk in Ruby, for the Cap Shawl, and also bought 15 skeins of Berroco Glace at 70% off. Yes, Please!

The Glace (the orange rayon in the picture below) will become a Clapotis - at last - for a friend. Then there is the celadon -....lime?.....celery?....whatever, it's green - Handmaiden Sea Silk, which is gorgeous, and which I bought for my mother at 40% off. She's trying to decide what to knit with it, and left me one of the two skeins to wind into a ball for her. Lastly, at bottom left, are the two balls of Naturally "Me" which is a 50% cashmere, 50% merino blend. I bought this at half price to make myself Odessa.

I've been spending some time on Ravelry lately. It hasn't cut into the knitting time, much, but I find the queue concept very motivating. It's not that I didn't have a list of things to knit BEFORE Ravelry, it's just that having them all in a line, with thumbnails clearly visible and yarn details noted beside the photo, keeps me enthused about casting on. I've already started three of the things in my queue, and have plans for at least two more.

What I'm hoping, then, is to revive my Stash Reduction Plan of last year. I haven't fallen off the wagon, per se, but I have not done as much actual knitting as I thought I would have. I haven't bought much yarn, either, but there is still Much to be Done.

Thank you for your encouraging comments on my very cheerful and zingy New Year's Day post. I think you all were right: it's bound to be better. Besides, in the end, really, there's nothing to do but go on - one has no choice but to hope for the best. I appreciate your words.

I also appreciate these.

They arrived in my mailbox today, and should go a long way toward cheering me up....which, if you are at all familiar with the plots, will probably strike you as ironic. Thank you so much, Joe and Dave, for your generosity.

Batten Down the Hatches.

Everyone has been posting years-in-review, and resolutions, and UNresolutions. For me the New Year is usually a great time - a deep breath of cold air, arms thrown out to the winter wind, smiling face upturned to the sunlight. Not so, this time. This time, the post-Christmas letdown has been dogging me since....well, since before Christmas even began.

I've learned some things this year. I was originally just going to post that - the "Things I've Learned" list, joining the rest of the known blogoverse in their Old Year retrospection and New Year prospection. I thought about that a fair bit as I spent today on my couch, fingers flying on the Log Cabin blanket. To the casual observer I'm sure I looked content, happy, and maybe even peaceful. But my inner child spent the entire day huddled into a corner, hugging herself nervously.

It took me until this evening to realize what I was feeling: what I have been feeling for days upon days, watching 2008 approach.

Trepidation.

The passage of time, the approach of another year. It doesn't bring new opportunities, better conditions, more elevated thoughts, increase, improvement. For me this year, the winter wind simply carries with it the threat of illness, the possibility of loss, and the certainty of fear. In the past the small victories and occasional moments of happiness were enough to make up for all of that. I don't know whether that's true anymore.

When I was toying with the idea of a lighthearted New Year post, I had two lists. One was "Things I've Learned". Things like "when buying a Christmas tree stand, GET THE EXPENSIVE ONE" and "you're never too young for a rectal exam". The other list was "What Happens Next". This was the optimism part, with things like "use my stash" and "run 100 miles by April 1". I sat there thinking about it, then with my mental Sharpie I drew a big black line through the whole damn thing.

It turns out the only thing I want for the coming year is that my family is healthy and unharmed, and my friend is cancer free.

I don't want to have whatever 2008 will throw at me. I have a feeling it won't be hugs and puppies.

As far as Life goes, the meaning thereof and the secret to success and whatnot, I guess it's just a matter of grimly hanging on: achieving longevity and - maybe - happiness by sheer bloodymindedness. That I've got - in spades. I hope it's enough.