You've Got to be Kidding Me.

It's my own fault. We took Owen to the Veterinary Dentist yesterday for an evaluation. I thought this would solve his tooth problems by presenting us with a pre-treatment estimate that would make my own teeth hurt, but would be "ok..." if we knew it would help him to be more comfortable, and less...smelly, frankly. The estimate caps at $1789. "He's a big dog..." Horrible, right? $1800 for the teeth of an animal that derives it's primary pleasure in life from licking it's own butt. But it gets worse! I felt it necessary to share with her that Owen "hears voices". You'd have to be here and see the demonstration to understand. We thought it was pain. Not pain, says the dentist. Before she can implement the treatment plan, she wants to have him cleared by a neurologist, to rule out any disorders that might cause him to...well...cork off under anesthesia. Today I am in search of a Vet Neurologist less than 2 hours from home, and wondering if they can just 'look at him' and not demand a doggie MRI. Which I so doubt. Having just lost Kioshi I am now worried that Owen has some undiagnosed disorder and is going to die, forget about the teeth. I am equally worried that I have fallen over the edge of what I view as the ethical slippery slope of pet health care. In fact I have fallen after vowing never to succumb to the "pets as people" model of medical intervention. But modern vets leave you so little choice.
Happier things - I got my t-shirt for Sock Boot Camp, and am to be the Sock Doctor, Karen says! Pink camo. What could be better?? My toe-up Tofutsies will be done in time to wear Sunday, which I am very excited about. I love Tofutsies, but with a small whine. I got a ball that has a ton of knots. In a typical situation I'd return the ball, and would recommend returning the ball to anyone who asked me. But I refuse to, since I am so far along now, and the idea of turning back makes me a little sad. I was watching a movie and knots came along and I went by them, and it wasn't till a while later that I thought "Hey. That's a lot of knots..." The pattern and technique are my own. I found a cast-on online, and did not like the way it looked. I swore off assistance from that point. I'd rather mess it up on my own than be mad at a stranger. After I did my heel turn and gusset I picked up Charlene Schurch's book and discovered that I did it "all wrong" although I prefer "Yet Another Unique Way in Which Melissa Knits Stuff." It sounds softer than "Bad, bad cowgirl". I love the yarn itself and can see it quickly working it's way into my "favorite summer sock yarn" slot - where there is an opening currently. It's comfy and feels breezy and light on my foot. Although what I’d know of summer is a mystery, since it’s going to SNOW AGAIN!
Also completed, the Brooks Farm That Turned Out to be Socks. The yarn is Acero, the pattern is my own again, and I adore (thoroughly and completely, seriously in mad passionate love with) this yarn. Yummy to look at, with this soft shimmer of silk...think Silk Garden only softer and thinner and prettier. (Did I say that? I love SG!!) At Rhinebeck I'll be the woman with the Two Socks t-shirt and a shopping cart of Brooks Farm. Pant, pant, drool, drool. It's edible. It's heavenly. As a sock yarn I find Acero comfortable and very warm, in large part because of it's silk componant. Any New Englander worth their salt knows the value of silk underwear. Of course, we also know it's literal value, so most of us end with cotton thermals. Buy Acero instead. Knit yourself longjohns. Knit socks. Knit anything, or nothing. Just buy it to stare at on rainy days. Or SNOWY ones. What's up with that?? It's APRIL! ENOUGH! AKKK!
I love it when I get noticed. Check this out - I had not been on the deck for two minutes when I was the subject of note and comment. My own personal peanut gallery, commenting on position of the foot, color of the yarn, texture, twist...it begins with one and the next thing you know there's a whole blessed flock standing around goggle-eyed and loud-mouthed offering personal commentary and group discussion. This totally makes me feel better after last night, in which I taught the first session of a notorious and much-beloved class known as Fearless Finishing. This class was formerly taught by a woman of such incredible skill and talent as to make my own feeble attempts appear pathetic by comparison. So I am trying to not compare. I am working on changing things up, bringing my own unique little self into the mix,
while retaining all of Dori's incredible attention to detail. It's not that I am not into the details. Often I am. But more often I embrace the unique and the different and the "errors" as a part of the overall scheme of life in which we make errors, and do things differently and uniquely and learn and move on. I don't like to hear Eastern Stitch Mount referred to as "wrong". It makes me sad - and not for my own sake as I have ego integrity to withstand it, but what about the new knitter, the self-taught person who sees what we're doing and hears what we're saying and feels marginalized by words like "wrong" or “weird”? I've never been good at "good girl", never been too fond of following rules. I just can't accept the idea that there's One Right Way to knit. That’s like saying there’s only One Right Way to make love, or One Right Way to cook chicken. There’s no One Right Way to do anything.
Hey, Malea? Guess where I'm goin' right this minute? What is today? Today is TUESDAY, and TUESDAY is ROCK STAR DAY. If I do not appear by your desk by 5pm with Rock Star you may seek my remains beneath a bridge.