A Few Days Late . . .

Today tastes like sand, paper, and wind. I meant to post this¹ last week, in celebration of the glory of the Oak King (and the birth of the Holly King) but never got around to it because of this miserable summer cold.

Being sick in summer is worse than winter. Hot tea feels good and tastes good in the winter. It's dark late and early, the wind blows, it's dry and brown. There's nothing going on outside of the manufactured festivities. There's no reason to leave your bed.

In the summer--especially now and here--it's light early and late. The sun rises at 4:15 at this time of year. The sun sets around 8:00. It's hot outside, but for those of us who like it hot, that's dandy. However, you can't play Nekkid Hose Monster when you have a cold--the flux of heat and chill isn't good for you. Nor do you really have the energy to run. But of course, you can't sleep--it's hot and light.

Summer colds stink.

(1) Midsummer’s Eve

June 20 rolled around again, and my loony roomie was making plans. “The full moon falls on that night,” she chirped brightly. “We should hold a drum circle, scry our futures in a glass of wine, dance naked with the fairies!”

“Oh, I can tell you our futures,” I said. “Arrested for disturbing the peace.”

TGIM

Today tastes like green chile pork stew where the onions were left on the heat too long and carmelized/burned. With a side of coconut cotton candy. Not quite what I had expected, but workable.

It's been one of those weekends where you'd think I'd be delighted with everything that got done. I think I had eight arms, and every hand full of something.

See, I finished the Neverending Binkie of Modular Doom:




Then this:



became this:



became this:



and this:



became these:




More about the beading and the dyeing in later posts. Promise. Right now, I'm just so glad to be back at work where I can rest and recuperate from the weekend.

Fourth Review

In February, I made the following Groundhog's Day Resolutions:

1. I will not beat myself up for falling short of perfection with respect to this list.

2. I will complete 9 knitted projects this year.

3. I will complete three spreads per month in the art journal.

And as before, I'm hanging on to 1 and 3 by the skin of my teeth.

I finished a pair of complex socks for Gareth, then a blanket for Project Linus, and a shawl for me.

Now another binkie:



On top of that, I'm keeping up with the exchanges that are near and dear to my heart--the Hideous Fairy, and soon a Beaded Bag. Somehow I forgot to take into account my love of exchanges with strangers when I set up my goals.

I know I've re-thought this ad nauseam, but really, it's the process that matters. If it ain't fun it don't get done, and all that. Now I'm wondering if I can quantify the process of what I do to make it possible to set goals.

I've planned out how I want to play the remainder of the knitting year--I plan to work on this month's binkie as a travel project, and work on Veil of Isis as the home project till July 5, when I hop onto the Tour de France KAL¹ (virtually). Then the all-consuming nature of a closed ended KAL will have me carrying the Irtfa'a everywhere with me, knitting away every moment of my waking hours to strive for completion.

Then in August is the Knitting Olympics, and another shawl--PinkLemonKnits' Swan Lake with a similar level of commitment.

Once that fun is over, then I'm planning a Low-Sew version of the Psychedelic Squares and to complete just one more binkie for Linus (which is, yes, on the needles).

The good part is that this will clear my needles of everything that was started at the beginning of the year. Incomplete projects give me hives, so I try not to start too many things.

On the other hand, I'm a polyandrous knitter. I love cables, I love lace, I love simple texture stitches that let me play with color. I love stranded knitting, I love modular knitting, I love bizarre shaping. I love complex projects that tie me to charts, I love easy projects that can be memorized in a moment.

Nine in a year seems to be a reasonably good match for appetite and time. Now if I can only find my happy place with respect to the visual journal.

Four in a year? Perhaps.


1. See, every sporting event on TV is fodder for a knitalong. You start when the
event begins, and shoot for completing the project by the time the event ends. And it gives you something to watch while you knit. The Tour de France begins July 5 and ends July 27.

This ensures that you get to start lots of projects, promise yourself a deadline date for completion, and then start more stuff even if you haven't finished the first. Great for we obsessive types.

Which Chinaman Did I Just P*ss Off?

Todays tastes like chop suey with pencil shavings, sweet and sour lamb, and pine needle dumplings. Interesting, but not something I would have chosen intentionally.

Work is . . . interesting. SideKick, the associate, just gave notice; Boo's health is questionable; and Hopalong is debating striking out on his own. I am tap-dancing.

Hopalong just came to feel me out about my future plans. If he leaves to form "Hopalong, P.C." would I come with? More work, more money. If he stays with "Boo and Hopalong, P.C." am I interested in staying and moving up a rung in what I do for the firm while they hire Jennifer to come in and do what I do? And on the third hand, what if we do something totally different?

The only real answer to that is, "I'm always interested in discussing options."

Jeez, I feel like a politician. This language is not natural to me.

So I'll just sit down and knit. Knitting is soothing. Hey, I just started something on MmarionKknits about Clark's Southwestern shawl--someone asked if there were cows, and I suggested an O'Keefian motif of clouds, orchids and cow skulls--and eight people said they'd add something like THAT to the queue. And I see in my head a ruana-like garment with a semi-circular back, and neck shaping, and rectangular panels down the fronts. A big cow skull (right) and a big saguaro cactus (left) and then clouds at the top of the back, orchids in the middle, and smaller cow skulls at the base, edged with three-four vertical repeats of horseshoe lace blocked to points.

Oh, and I wanna knit Irtfa'a for the Tour de France KAL, and maybe get to my Spade shawl for the Olympics, and I have one Linus all but finished--what's this? Mmario has a Pi R Square variant up? I have GOT to knit that! Oh, and I have Veil of Isis OTN, my first beaded shawl, and I need to knit up the Mystery Stole with the swan's wing for Lyhr 2009, and I have these great cool knitting project bags that I NEED to start using and . . .

Uhm, knitting? Not so soothing. Interesting, but not soothing.

Sewing! Sewing is fun and Zen. Dollmaking is sculpting with a needle, where you take the fabric and then cut away everything that does not look like a Hideous Fairy cum Dweller of the Deep.



And then if you're really lucky, you know a group of dollmakers to trade with, and there's all kinds of cool projects like a beaded bag. Which I have cut, and am ready to quilt as soon as I get the batting and get started and it's only due in a month . . . oh.

Sewing. Interesting. Not calming.

So who set this curse on my head? And how do I get it off?

Flippin' Spades

Today tastes like bitter coffee and wafer cookies--the good ones with the creamy frosting, not the crappy buck-a-pack ones. The vanilla ones were okay, but the chocolate were bad, and the strawberry were only good for feeding to the seagulls.

I have finally managed to flip the spade lace! Here comes the knitting wonk post I warned you about. The rest of you can look at the pretty pictures and come back when we have more fiction, or other pretty pictures, or some cheese to go with the whine.

So--you have a pretty lace pattern and a great idea for its use. The only thing is . . you want the pattern to orient from a different direction.

Example: Meet Mr. Spade Lace.



He's very handsome. I like the lines of texture that form along the edges where the decreases make the spade point. Another designer, Anne Hanson, has created a very pretty shawl (click here to see) using Spade Lace.

I like her choices of stitches . . . except that the spades are upside down in the final garment.

See, Spade Lace orients such that the points point away from the cast-on edge. Anne knit Casino from the top, i.e., the cast-on edge is at the neck of the garment, and it flows down the back from there. So the points of Spade Lace trail down the back of the wearer.

Anne did a nice job turning this into a feature of the pattern (go see here). She knit a triangle shaped shawl, so the bottom point is the final repeat of Spade Lace.

Personally, I don't like simple triangle shawls. They require clutching and pinning and fiddling to keep on your shoulders, for the most part. I really like faroese shawls. They give you wings! Really, when they're on, they have these neat little pockets that your shoulders slip into, and then they hang on your body like they're part of you. You have to take them off to get out of them, they don't slip and slide and crawl all over.

And I'll bet you saw this coming: I like to knit them from the top down.

Bottom up directions read like this: Cast on a gazillion stitches, or knit three miles of edging and pick up one stitch for every other row. Knit forever, decreasing at the edges and center back panel. When you're almost done, decrease frantically at the shoulders in order to get to the neckline before you run out of yarn.

Bleh. And bleh again. I like the control that comes with top-down. I can decide when to quit and have a finished garment, even if it's more a capelet than a shawl. The rows get longer as I go, but psychologically, that's easier for me than facing long long rows to start. And I can control the fullness of the thing from the top, making fake increases when it's "big enough, but not long enough."

So, inspired by Anne's Casino I decided to make a faroese using an inverted variant of Spade Lace.

Ready for some acrobatics? Ready, set, flip!




And here's the boiz side by side:



How's it done?

Knitted lace is a tricksy thing. Sometimes, you can get away with just knitting the pattern in reverse, changing left-leaning decreases to right-leaning decreases and vice versa. Othertimes, you're going to have to re-engineer the pattern to make it flow the way you want.

First, get a good grip on the pattern you want to flip. I knit several repeats of Spade Lace to see how the increases and decreases made the pattern what it is. When I turned my swatch around, I noted that I was going to have to reverse the order of the YO's and decreases. As you can see, this made the individual motifs a little smaller. I also needed more rows to get all the features in.

Second, consider what you want from the final product. You may--or may not-- get a perfect horizontal mirror of your original pattern. What about the design is making you want to turn it over?

What appealed to me about the lace was the line of the decreases as they outlined the spade, and the little turnunder that changed the shape from an arrow (pointy tip growing at an angle, then going perfectly level to a stem) to a spade (pointy tip growing at an angle, then rounding at the corners and dimpling at the stem). But increases and decreases often do not exactly mirror each other--a three to one decrease doesn't look quite the same as a one to three increase. You'll note that in the Inverted variation, the yo's and the dec's are reversed from the original. The stem is smaller. Those were choices I made as I went through making it come out right.

Preserve what you love.

Third, have a good understanding of lace engineering. For every increase, you need a decrease SOMEWHERE IN THE PATTERN or you will wind up with a bunch of stitches you didn't account for. Oops. This especially bites when your pattern insists that it's ready to repeat . . . if only you knew what to do with those extra three stitches.

The original Spade Lace ("OSL") is 12 rows, multiple of 18 plus 1. Motifs are alternated on the half-drop principal so they tile. As one spade grows thicker, the two neighboring spades taper off, until maximal bulge meets stems. And just for fun, there's patterning on both sides. The knit rows have four increases and two decreases. The extra stitches are decreased away on the purl side. One repeat of the lace, therefore, is a half-motif, a full motif, then a half-motif.

So okay--we'll have a half-motif, full motif, half-motif in the inverted lace ("ISL") as well. That's part of how a half-drop works, after all. We know we'll want lace to define the stems and outline the motif. We know we have the option to work decreases on the purl side to compensate for increases on the knit side.

I knit a swatch of OSL, placed a lifeline, then started my ISL right on top. This let me see what I was trying to reverse right there on the needles.

I started with flipping the pointy tip. In OSL, the tip is formed with a double decrease on the purl side halfway through. I made this a double increase on the knit side at the beginning. Gotta start somewhere.

I counted increases and decreases on the knit row, then incorporated additional decreases on the purl row to make the stitch count come back even. That set up the lines of the lace, and after that, it was mostly following the logic of the pattern as far as increases/decreases. And ripping! Lots and lots of ripping! The blessing of the lifeline was that I could rip back, knowing I couldn't lose anything serious.

The most challenging rows were where the old motif falls off and curls under and the new motif begins. This happens twice--once for the center and once for each side. Unfortunately, there's no substitute for skull sweat and elbow grease sometimes.

Keep copious notes of what you do. It took about three weeks of real time to get this flipped, so about 12 hours actually interacting with the needles. You won't remember it all. I reached row 14 of my initial run, and realized I was going to have to make some major changes at row 7. My notes gave me a starting place to determine where this point should be.

Some laces may not flip attractively. But this method gave me a place to get my fingernails under it and get the piece pried up.

Third Review

Today tastes like jerky-flavored cotton candy. Promising, but falling short and more than a little odd.

In case you're looking for the lace reversal post, and bewildered by the obvious lack of relevance, I hit the "publish" key a little too fast. Ooops. I'm in the process of re-knitting samples for photos, so I expect to have that post up sometime next week. Drop a comment, and I'll add you to the list of folks to notify when I get the lace reversal up.

Meanwhile, it's the 5th of May, and thus it's time for the Groundhog Resolutions Day review. A reminder of my goals for the year:

1. I will not beat myself up for falling short of perfection with respect to this list.

2. I will complete 9 knitted projects this year.

3. I will complete three spreads per month in the art journal.

I'm managing number 1 surprisingly well. Normally, when I make a list I go waaaaayyy overboard with things I want/expect to accomplish. I forget to add in things like naps and necessary break and general slack time for working on other things that come up and strike my fancy. (An Altered Spanking Paddle Swap? A Hideous Fairy Exchange? SIGN ME UP! Oooops . . .)

This time, though, I'm starting to see that overscheduling is a habit of mine. Perhaps that will be a goal for next year--"I will give up overscheduling myself. I am not an airplane."

Number 2 is moving along. I finished a shawl in April, so that's 2 of 9. There's still time to make it all happen by the end of the year without resorting to knitting socks and hats and baby things (5 hour sweaters, anyone?)

And even if I don't make 9 by New Year's, I will have cleared out several projects. I've had the yarn for this shawl for literally years.¹ It's good to have it hanging out in another form, rather than wrapping the skein around my neck. Much more attractive this way.

And then we get to my bete noir, number 3. The infamous number 3.

Well.

That about sums it up. I haven't touched this since February. Part of it is that it's beastly hot in the paper studio (no air conditioning, south central Arizona, summer). Need I say more?

Yeah, okay, the other part of it is that I bit off more than is realistically chewable. If I really hadda gotta do it, I'd be out there at midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, I'd be out there early in the morning on weekdays, I'd find some way around it, but I'm not doing so.

Mostly, I'm choosing to knit or read. I haven't even bound this first quarter's output yet. I need to finish the art papers I use to make the pages, then glue the stories and pictures to them and arrange the signatures and yadda yadda yadda. I want to clean the studio so it's easier to work in, I have other projects hanging out, and I have every excuse in the book for not doing so, it seems.

All right. This will probably change again come fall and winter, when it cools down some and I'm more interested in papery things once more. Interesting. Perhaps I need to keep this in mind next year, that I like to knit more beginning in early spring and go through late fall, then work the hours of small daylight in the paper studio under the glow of the lightbulb, in the chilly winter temps.

I also need to keep in mind that I need slack time, that I have enough daily activities to keep me running on the wheel, and if I add more to that daily/weekly/monthly goal, things will fall off, and I hate that.²

Perhaps in 2009 I'll be writing about "I will schedule at least one weekend per month where I don't have anything particular to work on."



1. I bought it for a class that was being held at a big knitters' convention. I'd wanted to go to this for years, so we're talking 2002 or so. The teacher then decided that rather than teach shawl design, she was going to do a little knit-along project where she blathered on a bit about lace knitting (yeah, holes and decreases, uh-huh) for about an hour, then handed out project sheets (is this IT?) and that was that. On top of that, it was a goofy little lace scarf project.

I could have done this myself without the "class." (Without the registration fee, without the travel costs, without the hotel costs, without the food costs . . . that would have bought a LOT of yarn and pattern dictionaries. If you put your ear to the monitor you can probably hear my blood boiling.)

2. I hate things falling off. I hate having many projects in half-completed states and feeling like I have no way to devote enough time to them to finish. I have having desires and realizing that I have so many things begun that I'm only shooting myself in the feet to start another.

Today Tastes Like Burning . . . A Quick Fiction Fix

Blog entry April 26, 2008

My younger brother called to let me know a package was on its way. When I asked him what sort of package, he chuckled, and told me I'd know it when I saw it. Odd.

Not that he'd send a package; my birthday was earlier this month, and he's thoughtful that way. Not always timely, but then, none of us are much for punctuality. Late births are the norm in our family, and as you begin . . .

No, I remember Christmas was hard for him. He'd go out and buy gifts for everyone, but the waiting until the big day was tough. He'd want to share the fun right then, not wrap it and stash it under the tree. There were times he'd go out and buy doubles because he couldn't wait and would blurt out "I got you a . . ." at the dinner table.

For that matter, he didn't sound quite like himself. He sounded . . . flat. For a minute, I was reminded of those hostage tapes from al Jazeera. Like he was reading from a script. Like someone was putting words in his mouth.

Odd

Blog entry May 2, 2008

A package was waiting by the door when I came home. Great postage stamps! See what I mean about thoughtful--my brother knows I do collages, so he found one of the few companies that uses old-fashioned stamps instead of those bar print thingies. They look Asian; a man with deep epicanthal folds and black eyes peers out from under a . . . well, it's kind of a hood and kind of a mitre and kind of . . . well, it's a headdress for sure. He's wearing a veil over his nose and mouth. The hat and veil are yellow. When I turn the stamp, it's holographic! The folds of the veil shift and flow a little. What a cool effect! Usually they just snap back and forth, but this--it's like the wind rippling the cloth. Or maybe it's just the light.

I'm going to have to hit the intarwebs and google "Carcosa." My geography's not the best (okay, nonexistant. I memorized what I needed for tests and promptly forgot everything. Never thought I'd need it.) but I don't recognize the country.

Blog entry May 7, 2008

I LOVE THIS CD!!!! It's taken pride of place in my collection. I have it on permanent rotation in the car. I take it with me into the office, plug it into the computer, and listen with my headphones on. (It looks like I'm taking dictation.) I carry it into the house and put it on the stereo while I'm hanging out at home.

It's funny. I've played this disc so often, the music is a soundtrack to my dreams. I better make a copy or two before it gets scratched.

Maybe I'll make a copy for the car, a copy for work, a copy for home, a copy to put in my gym bag . . . better fire up Nero and get cracking, huh?

Blog entry May 20, 2008

Man! I didn't realize I'd been away for so long--where does the time go?

Last night, I dreamed I was riding on the back of a camel. I was crossing the desert at night, following a black man dressed in yellow robes. The stars were especially bright and clear, like they were closer to the earth, and brighter. Much brighter.

We were going to a city in the desert. I could see the towers on the horizon, topped with fantastic spires that went on and on forever. I could see the moon impaled on one like a glowing minaret. The things you dream! For that to happen, the moon would have to be in front of the tower. Isn't that silly?

They told us we'd have to announce summer vacation plans at work--dates and stuff. I'm finally eligible for three weeks at a whack. I usually break it up through the year--a long weekend made even longer, the whole week off between Christmas and New Year's. But this time, I think I'll take it all at once.

I'd like to go to Egypt.

Blog entry June 15, 2008

Well my bags are packed and I'm ready to go . . . lah lah lah lah, I'll miss you so . . . lah lah lah lah something something . . . I'm leaving on a jet plane!

I used to love that song. I can barely remember the lyrics now, buried as they are under my current favorite CD with the drums and flutes and the chanting in Egyptian.

I think it's Egyptian. I've learned enough to be polite--I'm hungry, where's a restaurant? I'm thirsty, where's a bar? Excuse me, please, thank you, where's the bathroom? But the chant on the CD bears the same resemblance to what I've learned as Chaucer does to modern English. All hard consonants bodyslammed to the mat, every bit of juice wrung out of the gutterals, the vowels snorted through the nose.

I'm so looking forward to this trip. Somehow it feels like coming home.

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January 1, 2009

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Insert Evocative Title Here

Today tastes like chinese long beans, like rapini, like underripe cucumbers. Bitter. But I like it. Because it is bitter and because it is my heart. ¹

It's one of those weeks where everywhere I turn, everyone does it better than me. Whatever it is. Whoever they are. I'm hip-deep in exchanges where others are posting swag and swag to be, and I look at what I have planned, and it looks like a dog's breakfast.

I'm busting my hump to chart a lace pattern. It's one of those times where you read the written pattern--multiple of 18 plus 1--then you check the actual directions and count stitches for the first row . . . and notice that you have to have 25 to work across once. My math may not be the best, but when I take off my shoes and count, 18 plus one DOES NOT EQUAL 25.

But it has been charted by someone else, and used to good effect. I have a plan to use it to great effect, if I can only get reality to cooperate with my dream. I may be smoking something. Won't be the first time.

Oh, I got it charted, with a great deal of skull sweat and test knitting. My hair caught fire two-three times, but it's charted. Now all I have to do (she said modestly) is reverse the pattern while keeping the character of the stitch.

You can stop laughing now.

You Big Dawg Knitters are nodding along--you know it's not just a matter of working the directions backwards. You know it's not even as simple as working from the last line to the first and reversing decreases.

Did I mention that this pattern has unbalanced increases on the knit side that get decreased away on the purl side? If it actually works, there will be a knitting wonk post to beat all knitting wonk posts detailing my thought processes as I flipped the lace. This is one of the Holy Grails of knitting--figuring out how to take a pattern you love from the bottom up and make it work top down.

I know this. I know that I may be Galahad here, cursed to see it once and never to grasp it.

And yeah, I'm doing this to myself. I'm looking over the shoulders of a couple of knitalongs where some knitters are discovering that there are patters where you have to --gasp-- pattern on both rows without resting, OMGBBQ! Yup, I have it in me so much nearer home to scare myself with my own desert places. ²

So I go to write on the Neverending Story Project. I have a lot of catching up to do. Amazing how they pile up when you don't get that story a day done each day. I'm banging along with my perpetual duo, and each story, due to the brevity of the format, feels like a scene in a chapter rather than a chapter in its entirety.

And I have the sinking feeling that I'm telling the same parts over and over and even fifty-five words is too long to forestall tedium. And on the other hand, if I collected them all into some sort of order, I might well have something worth exploring one of these days real soon now.

So I go to read my email. And Li'l Brah has posted a poem on his blog which not only piques my curiosity (really? Give up the chance to fanbabble at Shakespeare and Lincoln???) but containes that amazingly evocative line "I would give up all the fallen leaves in Gesthemane" and now I can barely see out of the bright green lenses that are my eyes. (I got even. I sent him a poem by Rumi. Hah!)³

So, in order to close with something gone right, there will be knitting:

(Eventually. I haven't made time to block the completed item yet, but will stick a picture here soon soon.)

Summer in Kansas, done Helen's Lace, Bucks Bar colorway. I started this shortly before I broke my hand last winter, and it was one of the first things I picked back up, solely to prove to myself that I could still knit lace.

Probably not the best choice. The silk kept catching on the Velcro of the brace, and I couldn't use my right hand the same way, and yeah, the pain pills interfered with the counting somewhat. ("Five, six, seven, thirteen, yellow . . .")

About halfway through, I realized it was literally riddled with errors and I wasn't going to be able to change patterns. So I ripped the whole thing out back to the cast-on row, made charts and charts of what I was doing and where I was going, and started. All. Over. Again. After the New Year.

Once I had all my tools in place, this was a fun little knit. Even the gazillion rows of the border where I had to have the charts handy for every stitch, and cheered when I finally turned the middle corner.

Not entirely unlike turning the middle finger.


1. Google Stephen Crane and "In the Desert."

2. See Robert Frost's "Desert Places."

3. Li'l Brah, hope I didn't out you to the 'rents here. Butcha know, you shouldn't post it to the intarwebs if you aren't willing for your mom to find out . . .

P.S.--And in yet another example of serendipity, the quote of the day for a group I read was this:

"The artist's personality, built upon strong desires and compassionate vision, is by its nature prone to depression. Therefore an artist will be visited by depression as a matter of course; his job is to recognize how his own thoughts and feelings contribute to his sadness. He can discourage these visits by affirming his freedom and worth, by remembering to love, and by gently encouraging himself to believe in a world of renewed possibilities. Depression may be natural, but still the artist can dispute and overcome it."

--Affirmations for Artists by Eric Maisel

Talk about your basic Godsmacks . . .

Muse Musing

Today tastes like long beans in oyster sauce, red bean paste in sesame balls, and pencil shavings. Dim sum in the classroom.

Some of the bloggers I read and feed from are questioning the purpuse of their blogs. There are those who wish to make money from their writings, and understand that (a) you have to post regularly and (b) you have to post things that have value to the readers.

So the question becomes, does a trump b? Is it better to post regularly about whatever randomness floats through your head (butter beans! Scissors! Lee Iacocca!) in order to have regular postings or should one keep the focus of one's blog narrow and tight in order to hold on to one's hard-won audience?

And while it seems as thought I splatter just about anything in these pages, this isn't my only blog. This is more about what I'm creating in the moment, minus a whole bunch of process blather. I mean, really--how many shots of one knitted square at a time are you willing to sit through? Do you really need bit by bit ATC assemblage musing?

I note, though, that the blogs I actually READ are more about one little slice of the author's life, where our interests intersect. I know Fleegle spends time in Japan as an embroidery student in addition to her knitting, but I couldn't tell you the names of her kids. 37 Days's author doesn't talk about her hobbies, and the only way I know what she does for a living is in the context of the retreats she holds once a year.

Interesting.

Second Review

Spending a year with the Groundhog Resolutions system of David Shea's (see the posts for March 3 and February 2, 2008 if you want a review). Essentially, you make your New Years' resolutions on the second of February, then review your progress once a month, on March 3, April 4, May 5 etc. Mine were:

1. I will not beat myself up for falling short of perfection with respect to this list.

2. I will complete 9 knitted projects this year.

3. I will complete three spreads per month in the art journal.

And boy, I'm glad I made number 1 a priority.

Not only am I late with the April review, I'm not making progress with respect to the rest of the list. I'm wondering if this is more than I'm willing to take on, given the rest of what I do. (I work out 5-6 days per week; I write a 55 word story each day; I post here once a week. I refill the well with words others have written. I take on projects to enliven my world.)

I know that my muse tends to wander off when I work a creative job for my livelihood. She doesn't care for the spotlight. She wilts in the heat, and the "fun job" becomes just like any other job. The joy of creating gets sucked out, leaving a rattling husk.

I've been knitting and knitting and knitting like a fiend on two projects--a blanket for Linus and a shawl for me. The Linus binkie is nearly complete--technically finished, even--but it needs a border. It's been nagging me for a border since it was about half-through. Fine. I'll knit the border on because I can't let it go without. I'll know it's really only half-done.

The shawl is sooooo very nearly done I can taste it. I have about 20 more repeats of the big edging to do, and 2-3 rows along the hypotenuse, and we're through. That's essentially another day's work, so I may very well post two porjects for April, which would put me neatly back in the running for nine knitted projects this year.

I thought about picking up socks for the rest of 2008, I really did. I could bang out my nine projects easily. However, the amount of stash consumed would be negligible, and that's really what it's about for me. Making stuff from the stuff I bought to make stuff with. That's what matters to me now.

And, of course, making stuff takes time. I'm not slacking on the knitting front.

I am, however, slacking on the art journal front. Part of it, I suppose, is that I'm working in images only, working fairly slowly, and working to make complete pieces without any journalling. I've struggled to keep to fewer than 10 words per spread.

The result? I have not done any art journal work since mid-March.

No wonder. It's hard to dance when you've shot yourself in both feet.

So . . . what can I do?

I can finish out this section, doing a little at a time--maybe even the timer system that has worked for me in the past. (Set a timer for one hour, and knit. Set it again, and do paper arts. Set it again, and read the current novel. Lather, rinse, repeat.) Given how achy my neck and back are from sitting and knitting and reading charts (that's what really kills me, turning to read and leaning to move the row marker, and repeating every few stitches and every row) that may well be a good choice for next weekend.

Once this section is done, I can change to doing single sheets rather than spreads. I can use the same technique as far as binding is concerned, where I do one section at a time and knot them together at the end, but I can work on one page at a time. I certainly can also give myself premission to journal or doodle in the blank spaces, and just work to create a single focal point to work around.

All it has to please is me, after all.

See you in May!

In Spring, the Dholes Come Out to Play . . .

I love having guests over--they find the most interesting things in your library. Books that you loved once, books that you had laid aside and forgotten. Books that you chain to the shelves so they don't wander off.

My younger brother discovered this gem hiding under the bed, and together we spent an evening perusing Blake Williams' Songs of Insanity and Excoriation. I think the Fair Use provisions should let me share this one sample with you.

The Shoggoth

Little shoggoth, Who made thee?
Doest thou know What made thee?
Gave thee life and bade thee feed,
Gave thee toys that scream and bleed;
Gave thee such a fearsome mien,
Unholy, loathsome, and unclean
Gave thee mouths to gibber and wail,
Under hill and over dale?
Little shoggoth, Who made thee?
Doest thou know What made thee?

Little shoggoth, I’ll tell thee,
Little shoggoth, I’ll tell thee.
The Elder Gods, deep under seas,
As you may see in temples’ frieze.
Built you strong and built you sound,
Ruled you till you gained the ground;
Then, throwing off your masters’ yoke,
You bent the Earth until it broke.
Little shoggoth, tekili-li!
Little shoggoth, tekili-li!

I'd write more, but someone's tapping at the window. I should go and let them in. BRB!

Auntie Meme

Today tastes like rice krispie squares, vaguely sweet and dull. Not quite there, somehow, although crunchy and textural. Like a meme when they're fun. So--a tossaway post in honor of a tossaway day.

The Band Meme

Here’s how it goes. You are about to have your own band’s CD cover. Follow these directions to the letter. It’s fun and requires no thought at all. Go to……

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.
http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.
http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together, and post the result in your own journal because it’s more amusing that way.



I'm vaguely amused. Happy Friday!

Like Topsy, It Growed

Today tastes of blueberries and pomegranates, sweet and astringent and musky.

I've been writing a fifty-five word story each day for the past few months. Since January 1, 2008, as a matter of fact. I did this for November 2006 through January 2007 and dropped the project. I don't recall why exactly--something about being tired and muddled and afraid to go on, to push through the dip and see what was on the other side.

The excuse grew into a reason, and I let it take over and keep me from growing. Now all I have is the book that came out of those three months--when I could have had four books. It turns out that three months is roughly 90 days, which makes a nice slim volume to hold in your hand.

Hence, with the turn of the year, I picked up the pen again and got going.

55 words is fragmentary--you get very little room for introductions or denouement, never mind conflict. And sometimes you wind up with a little more than a sketch that makes you wonder how these people got where they are, why they're doing what they do, and what comes next.

So. A story and some exploration.

Nothing is what it used to be, she thought as they walked down the street, her
in heels, him in tails. Instead of gaslamps and swanks with canes and
umbrellas, there were garbage cans set ablaze for the small warmth and light and
men with ragged lions' manes.

"Not exactly the Ritz, is it, sweet?" The remaining cobblestones were uneven so she wobbled sometimes on her pointed stilts. He steadied her with his arm around her waist. A tripartate display, she thought. That he could afford to keep a woman in furs, that he could protect what he kept, and that he had no fear of needing to draw the blade by his side. That he could walk where he wished, when he wished, and no one would challenge him.

A silver chain around her neck, a coat of wolf's pelts on her back, and the black coach that dogged their footsteps as they walked down the dark street.


Hmmm . . . I think this is actually a middle somewhere, now that I get a better look. I can half-see the world this belongs in, and there's a bunch of stuff that comes first. Tucking this between the pages of a Bible to flatten it. Perhaps I'll come back later.

First Review

Today tastes like leftovers, but remarkably decent leftovers. Like white bean soup with chunks of ham from Easter dinner, like open faced pulled pork sandwiches from Sunday's roast, like shepherd's pie with lamb and beef and chicken.

Time for the first Groudhog's Day Resolution Review.


1. I will not beat myself up for falling short of perfection with respect to this list.

Doing surprisingly well with this one. Doing well with this perfectionistic habit in other areas as well.

My wallet is playing peekaboo with me. I carry a large messenger bag full of stuff, and I have an eeensy weeensy black wallet. So when I go into a store, I just take the wallet. I don't need 40 art doll patterns to get a quart of milk, I just need my credit cards, right? So I dig the wallet out, and chuck it back in when I'm done.

And then, of course, the next time I'm at amazon.spend (OOOOOHHHH, Interweave Press has a new collection of doll patterns--40 Art Doll Patterns You've Seen Before, But Now They're All in One Place--where's my wallet?? I MUST HAVE THIS NOW!!!) and I can't find the thing.

Or I'm on the way to work on Monday (could I call in with spring fever?) and I realize I need to stop for gas, so I need my credit cards . . . and they're nowhere to be found.

See, normally this would bring on frustration (I'm SOOOOO stupid!!! Why can I NEVER put anything back??) and frustration leads to anger, and anger leads to suffering, which leads to the Dark Side.

Lately, though, it's been leading to thoughtful stubbornness. (I know I put it in this bag SOMEWHERE. I've looked through the bag three ties, I've checked the car, I;ve checked the shuttle purse, I've checked by the computer. I'll check the bag AGAIN--and there it is.)

A small victory, but mine own.

2. I will complete 9 knitted projects this year.

We're on track for this so far. I finished Gareth's Montrously Intricate Socks--and actually loved the pattern when I went back to 4 DPN's (not 2Socks2Circs No Waiting) and used all my little tricks--stitch markers to track the pattern, half-toothpick cable needles, etc.

I've made excellent progress on one Linus Binkie and a shawl for me. Again, I have tricks for a reason; I should use them as they make the process more fun for me. Keep this "process" thing in mind, it becomes important in a minute. There will be a quiz.

3. I will complete three spreads per month in the art journal.

Uhm . . . not so good. I mean, I made two in February, but it seems to take two sessions of weekends to get one spread done.

Part of it is that I'm not happy to slap down a melange of green papers, a vintage photo, a party hat and an inspirational ejaculation ("Brulee!") and call it a spread. I'm working on more of a finished piece that has meaning to me, at least.

And I'm not P&M'ing about how looooong it takes, and how I wish I was more creative like yooooooouuuu, because it's sooooooo easy for youuuuuuu. I'm saying it takes longer to get to a finished product than I thought it would when I set my goals.

And here's the pop quiz. I'm a process person. I know that. Always have been--that's part of why I knit, and why I'll take on complicated projects just for fun. And I'm okay with it taking time, because that time is being used doing something I enjoy. Some people spend five-ten hours a week watching soap operas, and count that as time ENJOYED rather than WASTED. Hokay.

But all my goals are PRODUCT related. No wonder this isn't feeling like a good fit. I'm feeling a little anxious about getting it all done RFN and meeting my goals, when my focus should be on doing my work.

Don't get me wrong--I would very much like to complete nine knitted projects and 4 signatures of my art journal per year. I also have ongoing exchanges and workshops to attend to (an ATC workshop, two art doll exchanges, a knitted shawl exchange, and a partridge in a pear tree) plus the 55-word storybooks to print and bind each quarter.

Hmmm. Need to fine-tune these goals a little, methinks. There's a lot going on here. Feels like the first time I inventoried all the knitted projects I had in some stage of completion--from cast on and worked the first row to needs some ends woven in and buttons sewn on--and just about passed out from the sheer number of things in the middle.

Tune in in 32 days for a Groundhog Day Resolution Review. Will Spike have revised her goals in light of her desires? Will she have found another bunch of hours in the day? (If I could just give up sleep . . . there's eight right there!)

There Are Days and Then There Are Days . . .

Is it diurnal or nocturnal?
It is nocturnal. You can see it creeping under the light of the full moon, seeking enemies to vanquish and friends to drain.

What illness does it call to mind?
Sarcidosis of the ankles and spleen.

In what city does it live?
Sedgwick, Kansas. Its home is a split-level three bedroom ranch house with a tidy front yard and a back plot that has been overrun by weeds. A sagging hammock hangs from a rusting swing stand. The picket fence is in dire need of new paint. The windows have gone cloudy from age.

Is it happy or unhappy?
It suffers terribly from melancholy. It can be heard endlessly questioning its purpose for being, its desire to continue, and murmuring restlessly about a wish to go home, wherever that may be.

What might its profession be?
It works a straight 9 to 5 clerical job, and volunteers in the morgue on weekends.

Is it capable of metamorphosis?
Yes, but it will only do so after having drunk too much at a party. It's too shy to resort to peeling off its clothing.

How does it get around?
On a rocket-powered Segway.

With what historical figure can it be associated?
Elvis Presley.

How would you kill it?
Offer it a cup of strong coffee. It will proceed to drink coffee until its stomach ruptures. Coffee is its one fatal weakness.

What scent goes with it?
New-mown grass and lemons; cherries and gasoline; pencil shavings and artificial grape flavor, such as grape bubble gum.

Is it favourable to love?
It finds love abhorrent. "Love is weakness" is tattooed on its heart.

What is its favourite song?
King of the Bongo, by Los Tequila Sharks. It hums this all the time, even when it sleeps.

Thanks to The Book of Surrealist Games for keeping me from having to take a quiz and post the results on a day where there's nothing to talk about.

1,000 Words and Then Some

Today tastes like paper, sawdust, and dirt. Pleh.

Not even spotting random wildlife in the city could improve things.



Pleh.

My Feet Hurt . . .

Today tastes like fake cherry, pseudo-grape, and paste. I have zero motivation. Everything is in the long drawn-out middle doldrums, past the thrill of the beginning, but before the excitement of the final push.

But then I think about it, and it sounds a lot like this . . .



Yup, my feet hurt. But I'm getting out there and play some ball nonetheless.

And it looks like this:

Groundhog’s Day Resolutions

Today tastes like lamb, green chile, and refried beans on fry bread. With a fry bread disc waiting in the wings with chocolate and butter. Circulation is overrated, right?

I’ve talked before about waiting to make resolutions until February 2, because the three-month holiday at the end of the year is like a busman’s holiday–we go to work, we do our thing BUT there’s a party at the end of each month. Halloween and the extra candy we buy for the trick-or-treaters (funny how it’s always a bag of our faves, isn’t it?) Thanksgiving and the groaning board feast (and the three weeks of leftovers; anything is better with butter and cream sauces). Then Christmas, with the cookie exchanges, the fruit and cookie baskets from associates who want to be remembered, the special celebratory goodies (ain’t Christmas without Julie’s fruitcake and Sam’s candied nuts). By January 1, we’re feeling bloated and hungover, not just from the champagne, but from the vacation from reality we’ve had.

So we’re ready to make resolutions. Lots of resolutions. All of them involving hair shirts, because we’ve partied so hard for the past ninety days. No fat, no sugar, no salt! Exercise three hours every day! More family time, more me time, more work time, fix the house up into a palatial mansion!

And then we drop them, and beat ourselves up for dropping an unrealistic expectation.

David Seah has a system for making resolutions on February 2–Groundhog Day– and then reviewing your progress each successive month, on March 3, April 4, May 5 and so on. The idea is to keep you cognizant of your expressed desires and goals, and to give yourself a reality check. You wanted to lose fifty pounds this year? How’s that going? Have you started an exercise program? Have you given up Doritos? More importantly, has your goal changed? Because goals DO change, and it’s important to honor that.

And at the same time, if you aren’t tracking your progress, how do you know what’s holding you back? How do you know where you need to set your feet and push, versus where you’re rolling like Sisyphus’s boulder downhill?

I’m limiting myself to three resolutions. I’m a listmaker by nature, and once I get started I can make lists that go on for miles. Problem is, that then I wind up not getting everything on that ginormous list done, and then I use it like a tool of Alecto, rather than an instrument of Calliope.

So:

1. I will not beat myself up for falling short of perfection with respect to this list. Progress is progress is progress, with apologies to Gertrude Stein.

2. I will complete 9 knitted projects this year. That should be doable–I knit during lunch and on the way home, so I get about an hour and a half each day built into my schedule.

3. I will complete three spreads per month in the art journal. That’s one per week, with a week off to knit. Again, doable. I may have to work a bit on some that are more challenging (like this week’s entry, which involves some drawing. Eeeesh. I hate my drawing. I don’t know why, I see others who draw in a similar style and LIKE their work. I suspect I just need to do more . . .)

Funny--as I was writing this list, I intended to add "work out 5-6 times per week" and "complete 1,000 inches of art this year" to the list, but I didn't. I realized that I've got a pretty good grip on my exercise schedule--I DO work out 5-6 times per week, and notice when I skip days. I'll often make up for a missed day. And if I adhere to the three spreads per month, I'll easily get 1,000 inches in, regardless of how many ATC's I make this year. Further, I thought about adding a writing resolution--but I've gotten in the habit of these weekly missives, and I've been putting out 55 word stories every day since the first of the year. These have become habits and routines. Forgetting to do them is like forgetting to put on my socks. It takes a conscious choice at a specific moment to make it NOT happen.

Not too shabby.

Jake's Pet

Today tastes like salt. Grey mineral-laden salt, earthy underneath the salinity. And pink peppercorns. It's a basic day, with a twist.

Hence, time for some fiction. Presenting: Jake's Pet.

Even in our eccentric little group, Jake had a bit of a reputation. See, we all have our areas of expertise–Mary can recite the jingle of every toy of the year going back to the Cabbage Patch Kids. Roy is the sea lawyer of Dungeons and Dragons–no, the classic edition, pamphlet bound in paper. Tom has been on a mystery walk since he was nine, and he’s picked up more than the Nag Thomas in that time. But Jake–Jake is kinda weird, and I don’t mind who hears me say so. Even though he’s my best friend.

See, Jake is into aquatic life. He’s fascinated by fish. And not bony fish, the squoogy kind. Slugs and anemones, cucumbers and jellyfish. And octopuses . . . octopi??? Jake would know for sure what the plural is, and it’s probably some bizarre Greek declension. Octopodes, maybe.

Jake never wanted a cat or dog, so far as I know. Or a horse, or other fantasy pet when you live in the city. He agitated for an aquarium when he was four, he bragged. A saltwater aquarium that he could fill with the strange floral animals of the sea. His folks bought him a goldfish bowl, telling him that if he took good care of it, he could have a bigger, better set up next year.

I don’t know what they were thinking – well, actually, I do. They were thinking that this desire would burn hot and flash over shortly, like kids’ whims often do. Jake would realize fish weren’t like dogs or cats; you couldn’t pick them up and give them a hug, they couldn’t sleep on the foot of your bed, they wouldn’t play with you.

Except, well, Jake had the touch when it came to fish. That goldfish not only made it through Christmas and past the Fourth of July, this fish grew to the size of a carp and lived a long life–years!–until it finally died. Jake trained it to leap out of its bowl and turn a somersault like a little orange dolphin when he waved his hand over the bowl. I’ve seen the pictures with a tiny cowlicked Jake in overalls, grinning with oversized teeth flanked by gaps, and a goldfish tumbling through the air behind his outstretched hand.

He did it for me once, live, when I said that it was photoshopped, or that he tossed the fish somehow. Theodore Sturgeon, the goldfish, rose slowly to the top of the tank when Jake waved his hand over the still surface of the water. I swear the fish heaved a sigh when Jake waved more insistently. “He’s old,” Jake said, apologetically. “I haven’t asked him to do this in years.” Ted sank back down a little, then exploded out of the water, shining scales gleaming, heavy head lowering till his barbels touched the water, tail waving as it arced up over his head in a flip, then creamy belly down and headfirst back to the bottom of the tank to doze. I’ll never forget that moment.

My folks didn’t care much for Jake. Too quiet, they said. But I overheard Mum talking to dad one night about him after Jake had spent the weekend with us. “His hands are always clammy,” Mum whispered. “And his eyes are too far apart.” Dad muttered something about prejudice and superstition half into his pillow, but Mum continued, “His mouth–have you ever looked at his mouth? He has too many teeth.” I was glad she’d never met Jake’s mother. He looked a lot like her, sharp white teeth in a little bee-stung mouth, small ears flat to her head, eyes wide-set with a broad nose between them. Her skin was a deep olive, even slightly blue, and her hair was pure white. Long and flowing, and somehow always in motion around her head as if she were swimming. Jake was paler, with short black hair that always looked wet. Like a seal’s, short and shiny. He took after his dad that way.

So, anyway, that was Jake then. And he really hasn’t changed since then. It’s like he was born an adult, just a small one, and now he’s just become bigger and stronger. Like one of his beloved invertebrates. But then he got religion, and things really became strange.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Animal sacrifice on the beaches at the turning points of the year, leather-bound books that moan and whimper in the night, fetishistic jewelry. Ok, you got me on that last one. Jake took up Eastern Orthodox Christianity, and started wearing a crucifix.

He asked me and Tom to help support him in his new beliefs. Just as witnesses, you might say. Jake’s family, hard-boiled agnostics all, took a dim view of his retreat to superstition, as they referred to it. They celebrated Christmas in the grand old pagan style–any excuse for a party, especially ones that featured gifts and food. But as far as setting foot in a church? Never. Not even for Easter and Christmas. Jake attended every Mass, and soon knew the calendar of holidays.

I went with him one October for the Blessing of the Animals. Pretty much ever family had a little yappy furball on a leash, a cat in a carrier, a bird in a cage. I saw some big dogs sitting in the pews, and even a turtle in an aquarium. Jake, of course, had a bucket of seawater and tentacles.

When he took his animal up for blessing, the priest looked into the bucket. I can only imagine what he thought when he saw those slit-pupiled eyes looking back at him. The father was a trouper, though, laying his hands on the bucket to bless the creature inside. He didn’t scream when an arm reached out of the bucket to reverently touch his hand, but I saw him leave the nave shortly after Jake turned to go, beaming.

This last Christmas was one for the books, though. Jake had read about how animals were supposed to be able to speak at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve. He wanted to hear for himself, but see, Jake is solar-powered. Seriously; as soon as the sun goes down, so does he. So he asked me to help him stay up till midnight, watching by the light of the aquarium so he wouldn’t miss it.

Well, Jake’s mom makes the best eggnog and fruitcake in Christendom, so I had nothing to lose by spending the night with my friend. If the beasts actually spoke up, I’d have a story to go drinking on for months. Maybe years. If nothing else, I could stuff my face with seasonal goodies and claim that the sugar would help keep me awake. Win-win, right?

So there we were, on the floor of the aquarium room–really. The little tank slowly grew to eat up a whole wall of the house, but only one animal lived there. An octopus nearly the size of a footstool, cruising slowly on the bottom, hauling itself along by its arms as thick as mine.

Jake never named his animals. “They have their own names,” he said, looking me in the eyes. He made eye contact only sparingly, only when it was really important that he be heard, that he communicate. “They have their own names, but I can’t understand them. It would be rude to call them by the wrong name, so until I understand their names, I won’t call them anything.” Maybe this year, I’d get to know this one’s name.

The minutes ticked by. I felt the same sense of anticipation you get when you finally get to stay up past midnight on New Year’s Eve–before you realize that there’s nothing magic about that moment, about the first few seconds of a new year. There’s no threshold to cross, nothing really changes. The champagne tastes the same. But that first time, why, anything could happen!

And in a way, it did. At midnight, the octopus surfaced, pulling itself head and two legs up out of the tank, leaving its body and six legs dangling in the water. It smiled. It had human lips and teeth on its underside, whereas I thought they had some beaky thing.

It smiled and it spoke to us, although I didn’t see its lips move, I heard it clearly. It said something about the forthcoming aeon of the Great Old Ones, then slid back into the water. Funny how I don’t really remember the words it said, just the sense of it. Just the feeling of the hair on my neck standing up, just the feeling of foreboding, like right after you wake from a nightmare.

And this morning I read that the elected Palestinian president has been assassinated, and troop withdrawal has been postponed again. And I remember what the octopus said, about the aeon of the Great Old Ones, and I wonder just what it meant by that.

I’ll have to ask Jake.

I Have No Excuses

Today tastes like chicharron (the good hard crunchy kind, solid and dense, not the little puffs of nothing), refried beans, and cheese. All I need is a warm tortilla and life would be excellent.

Last year at about this time, I was writing 55 word stories (henceforth "NanoFiction"). A story a day.

Last year at about this time I stopped writing NanoFiction. I meant to take the month of February off, then start again, but I just never really started.

I told myself it took too long, that I was tired, that . . . uhm . . . well, I'm sure I have a good reason. I must have left it in my other pants.

Truth is, I got scared. The tame little pony I'd climbed up on became a stallion underneath me, and I was scared. Of what, Ralph the Cat God only knows. (When the cats look up at the ceiling in the middle of the night and wail, "Rrrrralph! Rrrralph! Rrrralph!" they're praying to the Cat God. Like little furry muezzin chanting the azan.)

Scared perhaps, of producing a body of work? Scared of achieving some form of success? Scared of following through on a personal commitment? It's easier somehow, when you commit to an external thing, where your work needs to go to someone else by a certain date. You can push through a block by saying "But Sally will be soooooooo disappointed if I don't get up and get going on the Project. So I'll put down the Ben & Jerry's and go make some art." It's harder to get motivated when it's your own disappointment you have to live with.

So last year, I committed to posting once a week here, and so far, I've kept that. And this year, I've jumped back up on the NanoFiction Stallion. Rather than riding the horse and worrying about control, I'm going to let it animal around with me. Wherever we go is where I'll be.

Wherever we go, I will be somewhere in the world.