Hoo boy, I’m tired. It’s been a loooooong couple of weeks. It’s life in the fast-lane at work, and we’re all busy busy busy trying to get everything ready for our next tradeshow, which starts on Sunday. Yours truly flies out to Anaheim on Thursday to join those who will already be out there working on setup. But there’s little time for rest between now and then - there are press kits to create, presentations to tweak, and much, much more. Actually, “life in the fast lane” is the perfect way to describe how I feel right now. I rushed around this morning doing what seemed like ten bazillion things, and by the time I got home, I was still jittery and wired from all the hurried multi-tasking. I felt like you do when you first step out of a car you’ve been speeding along the highway in for many hours. You know how it is - your body hasn’t yet adjusted to the lack of movement, and you feel like you’re still speeding along at 70 mph. That’s precisely how I feel right now. I can’t make my mind or body slow down. I’m thinking all the espresso I’ve had today might have something to do with it, after an entirely caffeine-free weekend…

I wish I had more knitting to share, but I really don’t. I’m plugging away on the Nantucket Jacket, but there’s not really much to show. The front sections look prettymuch like the back, only half as wide, as it’s a cardigan. I have been spinning, though. If you look back to my post from February 9th, you’ll see a pretty bobbin of a single-ply from some Louet Northern Lights fiber I bought last summer. It wasn’t my favorite colorway, so I was kind of slow on spinning it up, but I did finally finish all three bobbins worth of singles, and I’ve now started the plying process. I honestly wasn’t all that crazy about it, even when it was spun up, but I’m almost in love with it now that it’s in a beautiful hank of 3-ply yarn. I can’t believe how nicely the colors all melded together!

I apologize for the blurriness of the second photo. I thought about re-taking the picture after I found that none of the ones I took were all that great, but it’s dark out now, and I probably couldn’t get much better with my shaky hands at the moment anyway (damn you, Starbucks espresso!)

There hasn’t been much time for knitting, spinning, or anything lately. I had wanted to dye this weekend, but I just ran out of time and energy - this tradeshow stuff is draining it all from me. Once we reach a lull in the schedule, though, I guarantee I will get back on the ball. I’ve been itching to dye for weeks now, and I’ve got all these fabulous colorways dancing around in my head. The skeins are all wound up and ready to go - I just need to find a day where I can set aside a bulk of hours and get down to it. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Meanwhile, I’ve been indulging my ever-growing love of audiobooks. I finished Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver while I was in Atlantic City at the last tradeshow, and in the week since I’ve finished The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger (which I’d read before, but the audiobook was recommended to me by mom). Fabulous. Now I’m even more eager for the movie to come out this December! I started The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy (read by Frank Muller) a few days ago, but it’s really bringing me down. I’ve not read the book before, though I do love Conroy, and I’d heard fabulous things about Frank Muller’s narration skills. I’ve only just started it, but so far it’s terribly depressing, and with all the stress and chaos at work, what with the upcoming tradeshow, I’m not sure I can handle such a serious and depressing novel at the moment. I did, however, just pick up audiobook versions of two of my favorite books at the library: Beach Music by Pat Conroy (also read by Frank Muller - a depressing novel, but at least one I know and absolutely adore) and American Gods by Neil Gaiman (read by Guidall George). My goal is to get those converted over to digital versions and pop them onto my iPod before I leave for Anaheim later this week. It’s a long flight to California, and I’ve got a lot of knitting and audio-reading to catch up on!

In other news, I received an email this morning from a publisher who’s putting together a book of sock patterns, and they’d like me to submit something. I won’t say too much more about it now, but I have to say, that was one of the better ways to start off a hectic Monday morning that I’ve experienced. I never really even thought about publishing any of my patterns… How cool would it be if I could? I tell ya, it’d certainly motivate me to design more! So, once more, keep your fingers crossed for me!

And on that note, it’s probably time for me to get back to work. I’ve tried to do the “rest and relaxation” thing this evening when I got home from work, and I failed miserably at it. So, I might as well get back to all those hundreds of little things that still need to get done! Life in the fast lane never really ends, I guess. :)

Hello again! Liz here, reporting direct from Atlantic City, NJ. The last few weeks have been hectic and chaotic, as we’re entering our spring tradeshow season at work. Our first big show of the season starts tomorrow, here in AC, and I arrived yesterday to help with the setup. Already, my feet are sore, and I’m tired and achey from sleeping in a bed that’s not mine (though the pillows are really nice, I will say). The hotel room is nice, though the view isn’t much to speak of.

One thing I love about staying in hotels is the free stuff you get. Ok, admittedly, they don’t give you that much. But I love those tiny little bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and they give you a new set each day, despite the fact that it takes less than 5% of a bottle to wash your hair. They’re just so cute. And I love having them on hand at home when I run out of shampoo and forget to go to the store to buy more. Good stuff.

Last night was fun. A few of us booked a reservation at Bobby Flay’s restaurant at the Borgata Hotel and Casino. Pricey, but delicious. We ordered light - surf and turf appetizer skewers with grilled lobster and fillet mignon, and side orders of mashed potatoes with truffle oil and creamed spinach to split. And then we split the most delicious dessert I think I have ever tasted - a chocolate butterscotch cake. It was moist, rich, and had a really interesting texture - some layers were smooth, some were cakey, some were denser and had that sorta granular texture you find in peanut butter bars. It was heavenly.

We played the nickel slots at the Borgata for a while. I only played $10, and at one point I was up by nearly $28, but then I gave it all back over the course of about 5 minutes. Oh well. It’s not like you play nickel slots to win it big.

I haven’t had much free time lately - as soon as I was able to go back to work after my arm healed, it was go go go, but I have gotten some knitting and spinning time here and there. They’re getting to know my face at the library as I borrow audiobook after audiobook, in order to have something worthwhile to listen to while I’m fibering. (It’s my new word - “knitting / spinning / dyeing” is too long, so “fibering” will suffice to encompass it all from now on.) I finally finished listening to the massive Outlander series, and I enjoyed listening to it this time around almost more than I did reading through it the first time. I think a large part of that is due to the narrator, Davina Porter, who is absolutely fantastic. Still, after nearly 300 hours worth of the series (those big books take a long time to read out-loud - the final book alone was 56 hours!), I’m glad to be able to move on to something new. I’m currently listening to Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver, read by the author. I had tried re-reading it a while back and just couldn’t get into it. I’m enjoying the audiobook version, though. Kingsolver has a very soothing voice, and it’s the perfect thing to listen to after a long, stressful day as I’m getting ready to settle in for bed.

I just wish I had my spinning here with me in the hotel room, but I guess my spinning wheel wouldn’t have been all that easy to transport, especially for only five days. I’ll live. I do have my knitting, though. I threw it in a light-weight, squishy $1 bag from Target (one of those “green” reusable shopping bags that all the stores are pushing now) to take with me on the airplane.

I had really hoped to be able to finish the back of my Nantucket Jacket before I left so that I wouldn’t have to carry the nearly-complete thing on the plane with me, but no such luck. Still, I’ve only got about 8 more rows to do before I’m ready to bind off and start on the front panels.

I’m not 100% crazy about the up-sizing of the pattern - the seed stitch panels seem too wide, and I think I would have preferred the cable panels to be extended instead. But, live and learn, I guess. I’m enjoying knitting it, though. It’s an easy enough pattern to memorize, but not so easy as to be mind-numbing. And the combination of the cables and seed stitch is just so dang pretty!

Anyway, all this talk of audiobooks and knitting is making me want to put my feet up and enjoy them for a bit before we head out to dinner in an hour. So, I’m off. Tata!

I had big plans for yesterday. I was going to finish cleaning out my office and get started on the back room at the store. Instead, I was tied to the computer for quite a while in the morning, trying to get payroll tax info to the accountant. In the end I printed out the information and drove it over there.

As a reward for all my hard work, I allowed myself to ignore the cleaning. I played with color instead. I’ve been dyeing yarn and fiber for a while now, and I learn something new every time I do it. I normally use pre-mixed colors, maybe modifying the color slightly, but usually not. While I’ve had fun doing this, I’ve longed to have the time to learn how to make colors from scratch. I took the time yesterday afternoon.

I had a particular color combination in mind, and found a digital representation of it. I brought my laptop into the dining room dye studio so I could refer to the picture as I mixed colors.

I had read somewhere that white ice cube trays make excellent dyers palettes. I grabbed one we never use from the cupboard and commenced to mixing. I had stock solutions of blue, red and yellow, and mixed and mixed and mixed. I finished just before BJ Bass came home from work, and was amazed that the afternoon had flown by so quickly. I only managed to dye three skeins of yarn, but they’re like nothing else I’ve ever done, and so I’m pleased with the afternoon’s lessons.

The green skein in the middle is to honor a special request. We’ll see if the requester likes it. The other two are up for grabs, and will be at the store this afternoon. After I finish admiring them.

On the red sweater front, I’m almost done with the first bobbin. This is addictive spinning for me, I keep wanting to see what the next color will look like. And Abby says she’ll make some red for me — yay!

Settle in — this could get lengthy. That’s what happens when I only post sporadically.

My mother is a collector of, well, many things. She loves pretty things, and until recently, more was always better. She’s in downsizing mode now though, so the mantle has been passed to me, her eldest child.

Everyone knows what I collect. If it’s spun or spinnable, I lust after it. I collect cookbooks too, but that’s the subject of another post for another day.

When I first started spinning, 14 or 15 years ago, I collected fiber. Natch. But 14 or 15 years ago there was only the glimmer of The Internet in our home, and certainly no one shopped there. So fiber availability was limited. Then I stopped spinning, because I became mistress of all the yarn in Huntsville, and the fiber waited patiently in its closet.

Two years ago I returned to spinning, and my collecting of fiber resumed. Last month I dyed some superwash merino in bright, cheerful colors

and had a blast spinning it into a cushy, sproingy three-ply sport weight yarn. I had a baby sweater in mind. This one.

I was sad when I finished it, because I wanted to knit some more. I really liked that Baby Surprise Jacket. And then I remembered my stash (though it’s not too likely that I would ever forget it). I have a generous collection of reds just waiting to be played with.

What you see here is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s more that wouldn’t fit in the picture. The idea started to percolate as I fondled the batt from Red Stone Yarns, a gift from Elizabeth when she came to visit last month. As I rummaged through the bins, I remembered that several of the fiber club offerings from Adrian had red in them, including the latest (bottom left corner) called red velvet. Mmmmmm, Shetland. I love Shetland wool.

I added a batt of Corriedale from Grafton Fibers (far left), some BFL from Lori Lawson, pencil roving dyed by Teyani and a gloriously textured batt from Crosspatch Creations. All of my favorite fiber folks, in one project. Except for one.

“Dear Abby — Do you have any red?”

Progress reports will be forthcoming.

I have to admit, I’ve been a bad, negligent sister. My baby brother turned 23 this past Friday, and I didn’t so much as send him an email, much less give him a call or send him a birthday card. I’m a bad, bad sister. So, my apologies, CJ, and happy belated birthday. Come visit me, and we’ll get trashed over a bottle of whiskey and laugh at memories of Storybook Gardens and other such nonsense.

In other news, my cast comes off tomorrow, and not a minute too soon. I can’t wait to be free of the dang thing. It wicks away all moisture from my skin, and the fingers on my right hand are cracked and peeling. No amount of moisturizer seems to help. And while my arm seems to have healed quite nicely over the last few weeks, the cast itself still keeps me from doing things easily, such as knitting, writing, and even typing. I cannot wait for the bloody thing to be taken off.

In the meantime, since I’m forbidden from working for insurance purposes, and I’m not supposed to drive, I’ve been holed up in the apartment with little but the internet and books to keep me occupied. Upon mom’s suggestions, I started listening to the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon, which I had read a while back, but not yet listened to the audiobook version. The books themselves are long (most near 1000 pages, and there are six in the series so far), and I figured the unabridged audiobooks ought to keep busy while I was stuck at home with nothing to do. I’ve just begun the fifth book, and I’m currently on disc 5. Disc 5 of 47. That’s 56 hours of audiobook. Now, granted, this particular book in the series (The Fiery Cross) is my least favorite of them, as it’s slow and drags a lot. Nearly six hours in, and we’ve covered less than ONE DAY in the story so far. Still, the reading itself by Davina Porter is entertaining to listen to, and as it’s cost me nothing to borrow it from the library, and I had nothing to do anyway, it’s fine enough for me. Better than watching court TV and Oprah, I suppose.

I had a fun email on Ravelry this afternoon, from a friend who moved away a few years back. She’s apparently taken up knitting and tracked me down to wave hello. So, here’s my hello back to Ms. Katie!

As a random note of the day, the “t” key on my keyboard sticks and I frequently fail to hit it at just the right angle or with just enough strength to make it register. The result is that my words frequently lack Ts (whether they’re supposed to or not) or that I am forced to backspace on just about every other word to correct it. It’s really quite aggravating, and I’ve contemplated at times removing the letter “t” from my typed vernacular altogether. For your sakes, though, I have diligently refrained from doing so. You’re welcome.

Here’s hoping that next time I post, I can shower you with pictures of all the pretty things I’ve knitted, spun, and dyed, because surely you’re growing weary of my endless inane ramblings on. I promise to be more focused next time.

Til then, tata.

When you’re at home nearly 24/7 and not even allowed to work due to an injury that falls under workman’s comp, you’re not allowed to drive anywhere for the same reason, and you’re even unable to do many things one-handed while at home, you find yourself with a lot of free time to think and a lot more time spent sleeping and dreaming. I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately, which is no big surprise, really, as nostalgia is sort of a fall-back state-of-being for me. But still, I find myself thinking back fondly and longingly of times past, and dreaming of ways to recapture some of those lost memories.

Every few days, I’ve been visiting the branch library down the street from me. Libraries are so much more convenient these days, because you can log in online, request the books you want, and then wait for the notification that they’ve been delivered to your local branch. Whenever I enter the small branch library, though, I’m reminded of all the time I used to spend at the small library I grew up going to. At the time, the Saline Public Library was located just a block away from my house (which isn’t really all that surprising, since Saline was a tiny town, and you could bike the length of it at a leisurely pace in about 45 minutes). I’d spend hours there, wandering the stacks, finding new stories to read. What brought back this memory were the posters I saw in the branch library of favorite fictional characters reading books with cheezy sayings encouraging people to read. (The one I glanced today had Elijah Wood as Frodo Baggins curled up in a tree, with the words "Reading - Make it a hobbit" at the bottom.)

There were lots of places I hung out regularly when I was a child - one of the benefits of living in a small town. The library was just one of the many regular haunts, though it was a favorite on dark, rainy days. At the other end of the street was the cemetery, and I always went there when I was angry or upset in order to cool down (I was a hot-headed child, which may not surprise you if you know me at all). It may sound strange that a child would willingly choose to hang out in a graveyard, but it was peaceful, and I always felt better after walking around there or curling up next to a gravestone with a book. It was quiet, and it really was a peaceful place in which you could gather your thoughts and remember that whatever you were upset about was not at all important in the grand scheme of things.

One of the really lovely parts of growing up in a small town in Michigan was the plethora of parks and wooded areas that were mingled about throughout the town. There was a wooded park, complete with a small creek and a dilapidated old tree house that someone built years ago, that we’d get to by sneaking through a few neighbors’ back yards. We’d pack picnics and play make-believe there for hours. And on the other side of town, behind the elementary school, was Millpond park, with big weeping willows that always simultaneously broke my heart and made it leap with joy. We’d catch frogs and crayfish in the small part of the brook that eventually widened and became the Raisin River. And further downstream, where the river was wider, was the old mill (restored by Henry Ford himself), which was turned into a beautiful inn and restaurant, Weller’s. We used to go to the restaurant, the Raisin River Cafe, every mothers day. It was a popular location for weddings and receptions, and I always imagined that one day, I’d get married there.

It wasn’t just outdoors that I played as a child, though. It rains a lot in Michigan, and you had to have places indoors to go, as well. There was the Calico Cat, an odd store with everything from Christmas ornaments to a chocolate counter to children’s books and toys. It lived in an old church across the street from the library, and was, of course, home to several calico cats. I loved that place, and it was, in fact, the last place in town I visited before we moved to Alabama. I was trying to keep out of the way of the movers, so I took CJ down there for a while. The owner asked us why we weren’t in school, and when we told her, she looked so sad for us (we were certainly sad to be leaving our home), and she gave us a huge bag of sugar-free gummy bears. Funny how you remember little things like that, even many, many years later, huh?

There were lots of other little shops we went to all the time, too. Sometimes we’d go for homemade doughnuts at Benny’s Bakery, and Sunday mornings were always set aside for trips to the pretzel place down the street, where we’d bring home tons of pretzels for breakfast. My favorites were always the pretzel rolls, which were crisp and salty on the outside, but ooey-gooey, soft, and yummy on the inside. Then there was the Little Ceasers pizza a block and a half away, and sometimes my brother and I would take our Radio Flyer down there to pick up pizzas and bring them home for dinner. A few blocks away was a little convenience store of a restaurant that I always visited with my dad. It seemed to change owners every year, and it was never the same place, but it was always there, and we always went. Though I know it probably wasn’t this for long, I always remember it as a fish and chips joint. I can still smell the tartar sauce when I think of the place. There was a Dairy Queen across the street from that place, and I have a distinct memory of one of my friends’ older sisters taking my brother and I there once when she was babysitting us. I was just a small building, where you ordered outside at the counter and then went to sit on one of the red metal benches. Sometimes we’d go out for dinner to Kelly’s, the neighborhood pub. There was a jackalope on the wall and games on the tables to keep the kids occupied. My brother and I always ordered Shirley Temples, always with extra maraschino cherries. One time, Kelly brought us a whole bowl of them, and of course we ate them all before our dinner even arrived. To this day, I still get a little queasy whenever I see a maraschino cherry or a jackalope.

It really was a small town. It was big news when we got a Wendy’s (it even made it into my school yearbook that year). There was a Hardee’s before that, though, and I remember getting roast beef sandwiches there after soccer practice. Still, if you wanted nightlife or dining or shopping more than Saline could offer, you had to go into Ann Arbor. My parents were (and still are) coffee drinkers, and we’d frequently go to the Espresso Royale Caffe (which, for some reason, we always called “Cafe Depresso” - no idea why). It was there that I learned to drink coffee. One night (I was maybe 8?), I got tired of ordering hot chocolate, and wanted coffee or some espresso drink. My mom tried to convince me that I wouldn’t like it, but she made the mistake of telling me it was a grown-up drink. I, thinking myself far more of an adult than a child, would have none of that, and ordered coffee. (It was likely a mocha, though I don’t really remember.) I remember hating it, but I also remember drinking it without complaint. I would prove to everyone that I was an adult, and if adults drank coffee, then so did I.

There were lots of other places in Ann Arbor I remember fondly. The original Borders (I picked up the habit of inhaling books at a very young age); the UofM campus with all its bike racks and odd sculptures; Blimpy Burger - the home of the world’s greasiest (and most delicious) burgers and onion rings; Kerry Town, with its quaint shops and cobblestone streets; the Blue Nile, where I learned to love Ethiopian food; and Olga’s, with their orange smoothies and wrapped sandwiches.

I went back to Saline and Ann Arbor in 2002 when I was looking at grad schools. It was quite possibly one of the strangest things I’ve ever experienced, because while nothing ever stays exactly the same way you remember it, and indeed many things had changed, there were many things that hadn’t changed at all. Blimpy Burger was still there, and still as greasy and delicious as I had remembered it. The Calico Cat hadn’t changed at all, except that the cats were different, and there were newer selections in the childrens book section in the basement. Cafe Depresso was still there, and as popular as ever, and while my old house had been painted a disgusting Pepto Bismol pink, the wooded park behind the house was still there, untouched and perfect, complete with a dilapidated old tree house that I’m sure has played host to any number of children’s afternoons of make-believe.