Hiding Under My Yarn

Those who know me know how much I just love air travel. If you sense dripping sarcasm you would be correct. I approach each flight with something more akin to terror than trepidation. I know there are drugs and I have some. They are meted out with great austerity by the prescribing physician who seems to think that I verge on the edge of addiction. This is borne out by my obvious headlong descent into a life of crime and heavy use of street drugs in the 3 year period since the last time I asked for a refill. Since the remaining pills (of the 15 originally in the bottle three years ago) had expired I thought I should get new ones. She is, she says, not afraid of flying. I should not be either. There is no danger in flying. I should get over my fear. Her hesitance to give me a simple pill for anxiety is in no way, I am certain, biased by her own fearlessness. How could it be? She is a physician after all and trained not to make value judgments about her patients. Right? It would be cruel of me to hope that someday she is stopped in her tracks by a panic attack, doubly cruel if I hoped it happened on a plane.
The truth is that I respect and appreciate her rationality, and even covet it. The truth is that I try not to take them. I bring just enough with me to get on and off the planes I need to, and often I don't take any. I need to know they are there, the magic feather in my pocket just in case. I use relaxation techniques, I knit during as much of the flight as possible, I am really very healthy in my handling of the whole "certain death in the sky" panic thing.
I leave for TNNA on Friday morning and while I am excited to be there, happy to see people, thrilled to sign books, the time between now and then will be a delicate dance of panic versus will, fear versus the power of the mind to overcome it. I will, once on the ground, forget about the return trip in the flurry of activity. On Sunday it will creep back up on me and I will spend a potentially sleepless night mentally projecting positive images of take-offs and landings and no missed connections, always with amiable and polite seatmates; no screaming toddlers or loud people, please. And no stinky provolone cheese man, like on that train from DC to New York. Monday when I land I will be happy and a little surprised to have lived through yet another series of flights. It should get old, I should adapt, it should fade in time and yet it never does. No, I am not controlling, not one little bit!
The babies are growing here and have turned into adolescents.

I spend time with them now because I know by Monday they will be bigger, and the Monday after they'll be bigger still. I go right from TNNA to Virginia with a brief 2-day stop at home, to Coordinated Colors Yarn Shoppe where I will endeavor to teach people how to knit socks two at a time from the toes up. I am not flying. Luckily for me, flying into the Williamsburg area from Hartford takes nearly as long as driving or taking the train, and costs about as much too.
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the birds pass from fluffy to feathered, from infant to adolescent. They begin with an insatiable curiosity about their environment right from the start and as they grow that only increases. 

Now they are concerned not just with what takes place within their pen. They want to know what else is out there, beyond their walls. The parallels to humans are not lost on me. First they explore the brooder. Then they expand outward until mom (that's me) lets them loose on an unsuspecting farmyard. Eventually the whole world is theirs, or they believe it is.
They mimic adult behaviors, like scratching, right from the start. They play at roosting along the way and now at over a month old some spend the night on the roosts. The majority pile in a heap on the floor when the sun goes down.

The ones who show precocity in their behavior now will be flock leaders as they grow. The pecking order is firmly established. I can shake it up by moving birds around which I occasionally do, but in the end the leaders still are leaders and the followers still follow. This weekend I separated them clearly into groups based on breed. For the chicken geeks, one pen now contains Marans, Fayoumi, Lakenvelders, what we think are black laced Wyandottes and the "gang of nine" mongrels. The other has meat birds and Cochins, Giants, Buttercups, Anconas and Leghorns. Somewhere in the mix are a few I am not sure about, and a couple of single birds of rare breeds which will be enjoyable to have around if they are hens, but don't enhance a breeding program. It makes me happy to see them, and that's enough. I cannot have every single breed. I probably would if I could.
The rest of my time is spent swatching and obsessively knitting projects from Vintage Baby Knits. I've only finished two, but have bought yarn for two others and discovered enough in stash for three or four more. I have a loose desire to knit the whole book, which I adore (the book, not the idea, although I find the idea very compelling).
The first project I finished was the Stella Pixie Hat. It is modeled here by the delightful and charming Jennifer who sits still and does not fuss or cry, ever. She's around 38 years old, so we'd expect good behavior. When I was five and she was fresh-smelling spotless vinyl she was more fussy, and needed a lot of attention. We've both changed.

I have not yet attached the button band. Love this hat and plan on making many more of it. It's quick and simple and adorable. I am making matching thumbless mittens from the remainder of the skein. The yarn is Blue Moon Fiber Arts Socks That Rock in Scottish Highlands. Love the yarn, love the hat, love love love.
I started first, but finished last the Violet Sacque.

Finished last because although I had the yarn on hand, I thought, I ran out and needed reinforcements. Webs, which is where I got the yarn originally, no longer carries Lang Jawoll solids. An internet search revealed some at Simply Socks Yarn Co. The yarn has been in stash long enough that I would never have found the dye lot, so I took what came. As a result the collar is significantly off from the body; noticeably darker.

I plan to distract from this by the use of a contrasting green ribbon at the neck. If that fails, maybe I will over-dye the whole shooting match with brown. That should haze things up a bit. I love the sweater. I like Jawoll well enough for a basic meat and potatoes sort of a fingering weight solid. It's durable, washes well, and softens up after washing which makes it a good baby yarn. Go ahead, unknown future infant, barf away.
And I swatch, and draw pictures and make notes. Here are some swatches.

I know. Exciting right? That's actually three sweaters and three shawls/scarves.  And then there's this:

the rest of the yarn for the new book (both bins). Almost all of it. There's a bit missing still, some Spirit Trail and a bit of Lorna's, but by and large it's all here. From now until Friday, more or less, you'll find me under it.
A note to my beloved family as I head out for TNNA: do you know what would make me feel truly loved? Really respected and appreciated? It's really quite simple. All animals alive and accounted for, hydrated and fed. And on top of that, just one small thing - the house cleaner than when I left.
Stop laughing. A girl can dream.
For updates from TNNA, or any time I am not home or blogging, you can follow me on Twitter either in the column on the right of this post or on Twitter itself. My user name is the amazingly original "Melissaknits". I also dual post tweets to my Facebook account where I am known by the even more original Melissa Morgan-Oakes. Expect sarcasm, cool stuff, and occasional wit. Lots of sarcasm.

Toot Toot!!

(That's my horn blowing)

I want to thank Michelle and Devlyn of Knit Happens PDX for having me on the Knit Happens show yesterday. It's up now as a podcast, which you can access by clicking the link above. It was a lot of fun to do, probably because I like to talk (a lot) and I like radio because if I am wearing pj's? You never know!

Where Oh Where...

Noella mentioned that she missed me at Cummington this weekend in the comments. Unfortunately, due to the craziness on the farm that sometimes happens in spring, Barb Parry was not able to attend either the NHS&W or Cummington, so I was unable to sign. I debated attending and just roaming, but then the farm asserted itself here as well, and wisdom seemed to advise staying home and working.

I've had a bit of sore throat for the past few days, and had a bunch of chaos here between times. I will admit to taking advantage of the opportunity to stick close to home. There's been a lot of non-chicken related drama here too, and I am worn out, more or less. Maybe more. Besides. Wouldn't you take a day to hang here?

I wrote the first two books on a 13 inch MacBook I bought for 2-at-a-Time Socks, from a relatively comfortable recliner chair I inherited from my Great Aunt Blanche after her death, or from my Ikea Poang chair. I like the recliner better, sorry Ikea. It's a tiny thing and I fit in it properly. Not many chairs fit me. I am short, and my spine resembles a corkscrew more than anything else. I loved the portability of the laptop. When I was working on Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time Socks it was winter. Not a fan of the cold, the ability to move my entire workspace to six inches from the woodstove made me a very happy girl.
The book I am working on now doesn't allow the sort of laid-back slacker attitude in writing location. No laptop this time - instead a 22" monitor screen with a smaller 13" beside it. And a new keyboard. And it's not a Mac. So, the day after the book launch I set up the new PC in my office. In a normal office chair. Any notes I had made for this new book were safely stashed in my Macbook. I spent a couple of days just trying to transfer files, with a deadline over my head and malfunctioning USB devices, and you get the picture? There was swearing, there was whining (a LOT of whining) about the chair, my back, my shoulder, the stupidity of computers, the difficulty of adjusting to a new keyboard, a newer version of Word and the mental blocks that accompany writing projects. This thing happens where I just sit and stare at the screen as if I have forgotten American English, and then all of a sudden words come flying out of my fingers and poof, 7,600 of them appear as if by magic. Then I have to edit, sort, rearrange, fuss over and fix until at last I can shoot them off to an editor and patiently wait their return.
I am still not adjusted to this keyboard, really. I have got to get used to this thing. And the mouse. And the whole PC thing in general. I have not touched a PC for more than five minutes in about four years. When my office machine turned into a brick there was no point. But now, one capital investment later, I have to touch, have to remember, have to be the old dog luckily just relearning old tricks. Close the window on the right. Expect little warnings popping up. Don't delete anything with a .dll extension. And so on.
Today is Memorial Day, which always makes me pause and consider the sacrifice of the women and men who've died giving birth to and defending our freedom. Although there have been many active servicemen (yes, all men) in my family, none has been lost in the line of duty. God willing none ever will be. My son just joined the Army, and leaves for Basic training and AIT in September, I believe to Fort Jackson. This wasn't a sudden decision. It has been on his radar and in discussion for about five years now, maybe longer. Knowing that it wasn't an abrupt decision makes it feel alright somehow. Not great mind you. This is my only son, and the Army is not exactly known for keeping it's members out of harm's way. But then he could get killed crossing a street, or maimed with rogue fireworks, or who knows what. I am a fatalist, if you want to call it that, although really it's more a function of my spiritual beliefs. I believe we all have a time, and then yours is up, it's up. Joining or not joining the Army will not make that time come earlier or later. It's easier to live fearlessly if you believe this. It's how I get on airplanes. If God wants me down, then the sucker is coming down and there's not a darn thing I can do about it. If I don't get on the plane, he can just as easily take me out on the drive home.
Besides, maybe Daniel's duty post will be someplace terrifying for mothers, like Germany. All that beer and bratwurst. Scary times. Regardless of where he goes or how this all turns out, I am exceedingly proud of him. This is something I do not say enough to my kids, that I am proud of them. I am proud of who they are, of who they are becoming. I am proud to say I had a hand in their rearing. I am mostly proud that although I at times disagree with what they are doing (this is not one of those times, I am simply stating this as a point of reference) I am always and forever proud that they follow their hearts and their dreams. I like to think they get that from me.

One Month and Not Much to Say Except Buk-AWWK!

It has been super busy here. It is spring and spring is always crazy. Chickens, gardens, project, and some work now and then as well. First, 95 baby chickens came from Sandhill Preservation. I ordered 50, but got very lucky and instead of a refund for the excess shipping I paid, I got bonus baby chickens instead. I'd ordered meat birds and layers. Man do I have meat birds and layers.

There they are, still in their shipping box. Sometimes people are amazed when I explain how they come. They come in the mail. I pay extra for express shipping but you can use priority, too. I like them to spend as little time in transit as possible. Now, I wasn't exactly prepared for so many, and I spent a quick morning running around gathering supplies, assuming I had 36 hours before they arrived. Wrong. The call confirming shipment was at around 7pm. They arrived the next day at 11am. We had no power as a result of a kicking spring storm. The babies were cold. They needed to be warm. 90-95 degrees warm, which is usually accomplished with a heat lamp.

Instead we pulled the stock tank I use for brooding babies in front of the woodstove and fired it up. I don't think this house has ever been so hot. We managed to keep them around 80-85 degrees. It's where they should have been, but it had to be close enough. As we headed into evening, still with no power, I became anxious for them. Really anxious. And the launch of Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time Socks was the next day. The idea of spending the night with an alarm clock every hour or so to wake me so I could check chicks and stuff the stove had no appeal. In the eleventh hour, just as the sun was setting and the temperature in the house was dropping, and I was beginning to berate myself and Poor Gene for not forging ahead sooner with the solar panels, the power came back on. I set the babies up in the mudroom with their lamp and headed for bed.

I needed to be rested for my party at Webs! Kathy gave me an wonderful introduction that made me get a little bleary.

My father would say this is genetic. We cry at everything. Hangnails, kleenex commercials, birthday parties, you name it. I talked for a while, a little about chickens and a little more about knitting. I sipped some champagne, and I signed some books.

Oh look. A rare image of me with my MOUTH OPEN. How surprising (sensing sarcasm? You'd be right). It was a wonderful evening. Friends were there, which always makes happiness, and knitters too! One friend brought me two of these:

Coolest. Chicken feeders. EVER. Now we're all stylin' with our vintage kit! I love the feeders. They are super heavy duty, and big. I am going to need big feeders around here. I have a lot of chickens. 140 I think. It's hard to count. They move so fast. And they grow so fast. Fluffy little babies change into little kids...

there they are at two weeks old, feathers popping out all over. The only way to get pictures is to corner them and snap away.

Or scare them by putting them on a child. That is my granddaughter April, for whom a pair of socks in the new book are named. Everyone say "Awww!!". Tack on a "My Gosh, Melissa, she's beautiful!" for extra points. Not that I am biased or anything. Tell me either of the grand kids are beautiful or handsome or amazing or brilliant and you've got me. The chicks sit still when terrified or small human fingers, for a minute anyway. It's effective.
There's a lot of them. And more even now, because somewhere in there I agreed to give hatching eggs to a local elementary school's first grade class. I had this great plan to separate a rooster and some hens specifically for meat birds, but time got away from me so in the end I sent along 18 random eggs from the previous day's batch. 21 incubating days went by like a shot, and in the end nine more babies were added to the farm a week or so ago. I know that they have one of four fathers. I know that they have one of 28 mothers. Beyond that, no clue what they'll look like. They'll lay if they're girls, and will go down well if they're boys. That's all I know.

I have completely lost track at this point of how old who is and so on. I think these guys are now two weeks old. I call them the gang of nine. Today we finished the last chicken room in the barn. It was clean for about five minutes before I started moving babies in.

MMmmm! I love laying down in it when it's like this. It never stays this clean for long. Eventually feathered people move in, and things change. Poop flies. Food gets scattered.

Feather dust fills the air. But for a moment it's heavenly. I love that they have this whole huge space now and all they want to do is lay in the sun. They're very funny. I don't know how many are in this room now. I lost count. The only time to really count them is at night.

I tried counting them while I was moving them, but some jumped out of the can after being counted and others jumped in, so I just filled the can and moved them. No counting. The purple tail is a bird who's been nipping excessively at it's own butt as the big feathers grow in. It's itchy. Grown up feathers are not like baby pin feathers.

There are just so many of them. I think I am slightly unhinged at times, considering this. 140 is a really lot of chickens. They're everywhere. And they've grown. Now just a month old, these are the same baby chicks from the picture at the top of the post, the sweet fuzzy babies in a cardboard box. Now they're gawky teenagers. Now plucking order is established. Bullies come to the fore. Adorableness occurs in new ways.

The environment is fully explored. Boys begin to act a bit more like boys. Girls begin to be a bit more retiring and shy. Nothing is set in stone until someone crows. But I begin to notice things.

The gang of nine has been mixed in with some of the smaller 4-week old chicks. I separated them by size - bigger birds in the big new room. Smaller guys in the small room. It works. The integration went very well. I had concerns. One of the little guys, named Meatball by the first graders, will not shut up about the change but everyone else is pleased. Meatball may be, possibly, a bit of a whiner. He'll get sorted soon enough.

This is Celia, in a rare appearance out from behind the nest boxes. Celia is an old girl, about ten. She's a Silkie hen that Meg got somewhere along the line. Although Silkies are known for making great pets, Celia is a complete and utter freak. She lives by the rule "Always Flight". No fight or flight for her. RUN. PANIC! Note the 4x4 I put down to ensure she has access to food during the day while the big chickens are out on range. We worry about her a lot. If she gets out, she sometimes will not come in. I occasionally use her as an Auntie for chicks who are too young to go out yet. If nothing else, I know she's safe inside for a while. She makes a great auntie. I keep saying I am going to give her some eggs someday and let her hatch them.

Well, that's it for now from the farm side of things. There's also been a lot of planting, watching of hives and there has even been some knitting, and a whole lot of writing about knitting. I may be able to post some projects in a couple of days that aren't related to any book, and therefore can make an appearance. I get into baby things between projects. One might even say obsessed with baby things. They're like socks; a palate cleanser, portable, fast. I am not knitting any socks right now - crazy, huh? - because I have three sock projects in the works that are "work". Time for more of that on Tuesday! For now, I will enjoy the day as it passes by planting more things and checking in on my 140 feathered charges and the 100,000 winged ones. Have a wonderful holiday weekend!

I Love Books, Not Just My Own.

First I do the whole disclosure thing here - yes, some books come to my door in boxes that I didn't pay for. The two books I am reviewing today are such as those. I am not paid to review them beyond the 'free book' part of the deal, and I will not review any books I don't like. If I like it, you'll see it. If I don't, you won't. The people who send me the books know this. Occasionally they send me a book I love and I forget to review it right away and then time passes and I get busy and I forget which one I was supposed to review, but that's more a personal problem, really. I was just sharing. These two are unforgettable, and not just because I am as the writer of 2 sock books and a collector of same.
The first, Toe-Up Socks for Every Body - Adventurous Lace, Cables and Colorwork from Wendy Knits by Wendy Johnson is a truly stunning collection of beautiful toe up sock information and design.

There is marvelous breadth and depth here. From the encouraging "Basic Information for Sock Knitters" which inspires you to begin modifying and designing socks, through a stunning series of patterns, culminating in a detailed technique section with clear images and instructions for multiple cast-on and heel applications, this book does not fail to impress. I have a particular love of twisted or traveling stitches and cables, and there are socks in this book of that ilk that nearly take my breath away. I was particularly struck by the beauty of the Diamonds and Cables Socks and Crocus Socks. I tend to avoid colorwork in my personal knitting life; I am not sure why this is, unless it stems from a childhood of various Red Heart intarsia and colorwork 1970's atrocities. In fact this would be my guess - one too many loopy hats in something brightly ombre, or vests with large ladybugs or owls yanked over my then 7 year old head may have left a rainbow of scars. Yet I am lustful over Wendy's lovely Norwegian Rose Socks. Brilliantly designed and beautifully photographed, this book is a must-have for any sock knitter.

The second book, The Sock Knitter's Workshop - Everything Knitters Need to Knit Socks Beautifully by Ewa Jostes and Stephanie van der Linden truly lives up to it's name.

From discussions on yarn, needles and tools required the books transitions to the basics of sock knitting; numbering double pointed needles, knitting a swatch (always a topic near and dear to my heart), clearly photographed and explained increase and decreases, Kitchener stitch - it's all here. This is a must-have book for beginning sock knitters and fledgling sock designers. Casting on and getting started with double points is covered in a way that gives knitters a choice between a single needle cast on or a multiple needle cast on (the method I use myself when knitting with double points). Multiple cast-ons and variations for cuffs are presented from basic to decorative (and adorable!). Heels and toes are approached in the same fashion - many options so that knitters can choose for themselves. The focus of this book is really top down, but directions are supplied for toe-up knitting as well. Time is given to knitting socks on circulars, as well as flat or back and forth techniques to take your socks in new directions. The book culminates with a section featuring 15 patterns, each rated according to difficulty using a yarn-ball scale as a guide. New to socks? Start with a one-ball pattern such as Babies' Socks - a great way to step into socks without the commitment of a large scale project. Looking for a challenge? Choose the 3-ball Mosaic Pattern. If you've not tried socks yet, this would be a great way to dip your toes in.

Unless of course, you want to jump in headfirst, in which case I know of a couple of books that might be of interest, but maybe I am biased.

Speaking of me (such ego), things are gearing up for a wild few weeks here. I will be on the Webs Ready Set Knit podcast with Kathy and Steve this week. It will air locally Saturday at 9am on 1400/1250 AM, or you can download it at iTunes after the show airs. Also on Saturday I will be teaching the first ever open to the public (but it's full now, so don't bother trying to get into it) Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time class at Webs. On Monday, a package of bees will arrive at Mr. Wonderful's place of work, and we'll pop them into our second hive. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? On Tuesday there will be 50 fluffy chicken butts in a cardboard box at my PO at some ungodly hour. On Thursday May 6th at Webs there will be an evening gathering to celebrate the official launch of Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time Socks, complete with nosh and champagne and chit-chat and signing of books. Please come if you can, but register first with customer service by calling 1-800-FOR-WEBS or emailing customerservice@yarn.com. There's no fee to attend, but a head-count is a good thing - it simply would not do to run out of champagne now, would it? I'd love to see you there - really I am just perpetually neurotic that my various hosts will buy cookies and bottles of bubbly and boxes of books and then no one will show up and I will feel bad that they invested time and money in me, so please come and drink something or eat a cookie and definitely buy a book so that I can relax a little. On May 9th I will be wandering aimlessly at the NH Sheep and Wool with my husband who will be buying me yarn and raffle tickets and lamb and things - if you see me and you have a book and want it signed, I do travel with a Sharpie! Don't be shy, unless I have my mouth full of lamb, in which case if you could wait till it's empty that'd be nice. On May 22nd a Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time class will be held at Metaphor Yarns in Shelburne Falls, and then on the 29th of May I will be at the Massachusetts Sheep and Wool in Cummington, signing book at Foxfire Fiber's booth again. I love signing for Barb. Sitting there surrounded by all that luscious yarn and fiber. Mmmm. Then we get into June when I'll be everywhere from Rhode Island to Ohio and Virginia and home again. On June 26 and 27th there will be two 2-at-a-Time sock classes at Webs - one tops down and the other toe up. And then in July...in July I will be on my deck in the sun taking a nice long nap to recover from May and June!
Keep knitting, and hope to see you out there!

I Should Blog

But I can think of nothing to say. So we'll do one of those posts with images and brief bits. I am working on a third book, celebrating the launch of the second, and generally over my head busy lately.
We did fit in a day in Maine.We saw lobster boats, lobster men, and lobster pots. The only lobsters we saw were red and on plates with butter, bibs and wetnaps. There is a great spot in Ogunquit called Perkins Cove, home of Barnacle Billy's. It was lovely. Placed our order, retreated to the deck, and waited for our tasty pal. I am not enamored of lobster having eaten entirely too much of it as a kid. But it's nice once in a while. Gene sits and waits like a kid for his meat to be cut while I make quick work of the shell. I still remember the first time he ever ordered one. He had no idea what to do with it. I think now he could get to the meat if he had to, but if your wife is going to have it all out for you in a minute or two, why bother? Also, if my mother knew that I now eat the bits she always yelled at me about not touching, she'd die. My dad made a face when I said I had become a bit of a tomalley fan. I also used to sneak the roe when no one was looking. My parents were very inland folk.I love climbing on rocks and taking pictures of objects. Like shells.Or damaged lobster pots mimicking cresting waves.
I ordered some yarn last week. Great segue, I know. I am not feeling subtle today. It is Monday after all!This is painfully yummy Black Bunny Fibers Stella Sock, and everyone should have some not just because I am all about the sparkle. I have plans for this yarn. More will be revealed.
This weekend I burned a pan to a crisp while attempting to make chicken wings for friends.The kitchen failures have become a bit of a trend. I am slipping. Apparently cooking is not like riding a bike. Speaking of bikes, in my defense, Gene had called me downstairs to try a modification on my bike trainer and I got distracted. Never leave sugar unattended where heat is involved. I know better. But I am a slow learner.
We went for a hike above our house.We live very close to a Vermont state forest, and the land up at the end of our road is quite secluded. If you leave my house and walk two and a half or so miles you will be in Vermont. We saw the prints of our moose friend. He or she is around seasonally. The attraction being both privacy and...
beavers. Who have made a series of three dams, and are working hard at turning the area into a lake. Moose like lakes. Given sufficient time, the beavers will be successful. The topography lends itself. Eventually, left to their own devices, another three or four acres could easily go underwater. Of course then if their dams fail many bad things will happen, like some pretty significant flooding of some recently created wood roads. But then isn't that the nature of the planet? Constant change? Change is good. I am rooting for the beavers, which is unusual for me. They're generally kind of a nuisance. But they were here first.
When we came back from our walk we found that the chickens had gone across the road and into the pasture. Far into it, almost into the woods.This is them returning home after I called them. I leave home for an hour, they head into the brush. Trouble's name is chicken!
More soon, with some actual knitting. Right now we're all about the writing. There's a couple of projects on the needles. Yarn soon, promise!

Crazy, Isn't It?

This past weekend Girl entertained a dog named Abby. Abby is wonderful, brilliant, very well-trained. She's some mix of stock dog, herding dog or heeler. She looks like she'd be great with cattle - low to the ground and stocky, and potentially relentless. This makes her a tad restless, especially when removed from hearth and home. She likes to herd all of the stuffed animals into a pile in the middle of the living room. That takes about thirty seconds. You can send them off to the far corners of the room again, but she's got them back in their pack in a matter of seconds. Sitting still is difficult for her, especially with the glaring distractions of Dazee and Boo, chickens crowing in the yard, cat blowing in and out and humans opening and closing doors and generally wandering about.I took all 3 dogs for a 2 mile walk on Saturday morning, thinking this would tire them out. I was partially right. Boo and Dazee crashed in heaps - Boo managed to get himself jumped on by another big dog, so was traumatized and therefore exhausted. Dazee takes 4-5 steps for every one of mine, so for her that was a pretty long hike. She really wanted a piece of the big dog, but he was much too busy snapping and growling at Boo. Abby, as soon as we were back in the front door asked if we could go again. More. Now. Please. Please?!? By Sunday afternoon I found myself sitting in a chair trying to make everyone relax for a few minutes. Just a few. I managed to get them to remain in their spaces for a whole ten minutes. It was most impressive. Note the Zen-like expression on my face as I try to remain as still and calm as possible while making sure each dog has some sort of physical contact. Very effective.
On Monday morning I headed out for a bit of a trot with Dazee and Boo. I assumed they had recovered from their little walk on Saturday. Dazee had and trotted gamely at my side. Boo, in spite of my going north instead of south, has indeed made decisions about "outside".I expected this really. All four paws planted firmly into the dirt of the upper part of our road. Immovable. He is long on memory and easily traumatized. Being jumped by a Weimaraner has had it's effect, and I doubt I will be able to get him further than a half mile from home ever again. In his mind the outdoors, which has always terrified him, is now populated by mean, angry dogs seeking to kill him.
I finished these socks this week. They're currently called Beachside, although their new owner (Webs) may change that.The yarn is Valley Yarns Superwash DK. The pattern is written toe-up 2 at a time. And there's BEADS! And cables.
The heel is simple stockinette, although heel stitch could just as easily be used. I just liked the simplicity of the stockinette on these. I love them. I hope you do too! I'll let you know when the pattern is available from Webs, in case you want to make a pair for yourself. They would also make a great gift sock I think.
It's getting close to time for Toe-Up 2-at-a-Time Socks to make a public appearance. I don't think I am nervous so much this time as excited. I want to share it. I hope everyone loves it. I already do!