It's Over Between Us

Really. We've both tried...no one can say we haven't tried. We've both tried to make changes for one another but sometimes, well, it just isn't enough. Sometimes you have to simply admit that, no matter how much love is there, you are incompatible.

So it is with the Lorna's Laces turquoise and purple. I love her, and I believe she has some degree of affection for me...but, sadly, everything we make together ends up frogged and alone. I surrender. I think it's gone beyond even professional yarn counseling. If anyone is interested in trading any other sock yarn for two skeins of Lorna's Laces (see my last blog entry for how it looks knitted up), let me know what you have. I'd be delighted to send her to a better home. I've knitted with one skein of it several times, but it's clean and undamaged and I'll reskein it for you. Whatever you have to trade cannot be any worse of a fit for me than this stuff. As lovely as she is, I'm starting to fear that my knitting mojo is being drained by her mere presence in my sock yarn drawer.

All of which is the end of the story. The beginning was the rude and amusing sock you saw the other day; the middle was when I realized I had made the heel incorrectly and had to do it yet again....and, while I was at it, it really didn't have as much ease as I might want and so should probably be started completely over with more stitches. See, no actual mushroom clouds yesterday (although I did go over to Knotty Kitty's house, just to be sure the universe couldn't immediately locate me...a ploy which it apparently saw right through) but definitely an irreconcilable rift between yarn and knitter.

In its place, I tried a few things before finally acknowledging the truth (which all of you have kindly avoided pointing out to me) that I am a terribly picky pain in the rumpus when it comes to matching yarn to pattern and so I gave up and am starting one in my own design. At least if it sucks, I can't curse some other poor, innocent designer (I question the innocence of the sadist who invented the Pomotamus sock...but that's a different matter). The yarn is Adirondack silk blend and the colorway--well, it would be great if I could recall it.....but here's the best picture I could get (because I still can't operate a camera any better than Ed can operate the can opener):

Miss was quite willing to examine it for you, to let you know her opinion....

...and she says it's fine but for tuna's sake get the sticks out of her face and let her return to her nap. High praise, I think. I realize you can't tell a thing about it from either picture, but it's a colorway with yellow, emerald, royal purple, and royal blue (because I'm so shy and restrained in my use of color) and the stitch pattern involves one row of knit followed by a row with repeats of yarn over, slip one, knit two, pass the slipped stitch over the two. It breaks up the colors nicely which is good...because this stuff was bound and determined it was going to pool or spiral. See what I mean about the mojo? I suspect it will knit up beautifully once that purple and turquoise is out of the house.

Other happenings at the House of the Madwoman include the discovery of this letter on my pillow this morning:

"Dear Thumbed One (you screwed that up in your blog yesterday by the way--YOU have thumbs, WE don't...sheesh)--

It has come to our attention that you feel some strange need to sleep all night long, in spite of the superior cat companionship offered to you. We've made a log of your dreadful behavior, the better to demonstrate the grievious nature in which we've been wounded:

0300 hours: subject lying on side, blatantly ignoring purring cat

0305 hours: subject flails recklessly in response to friendly, snotty nose smear across face; does not attempt to pet loving cat

0315 hours: subject actually pushes on backside of cat, after it has lovingly been placed in her face, forcing cat to dig in nails. Unbelievably, subject seems to blame cat for this, as evidenced by the dreadful, murmured comment about cat stir fry with snow peas.

0330 hours: subject get up, lurches into small room. Accidentally kicks cat on the way without apologizing--actually mutters something it "serving the hairy little buggers right for being underfoot".

0345 hours: notice second cat on subject. Smack other cat in clear demonstration of love for and ownership of subject. Find self shoved unceremoniously to floor.

0350 hours: push head under hand of subject, hoping to remind it how petting is to commence. Hear startling comment about "little tabby rugs". Consider questionable state of subject's sanity.

0400 hours: bite soft flesh of subjects inner arm affectionately. Duck flying pillow and consider whether subject fully understands concept of affection.

0410 hours: curl up against subject. Subject strokes head gently. Begin to purr. Subject continues to stroke head. Meow happily several times. Subject places pillow over face and says something about "why didn't I get an easier pet?? A howler monkey, for instance??"

0415 hours: Second cat returns to lie on subject; smack interloper soundly on head and meow in a high pitched fashion, indicative of highly protective nature. Run from flailing subject as subject loudly contemplates practicality of slippers made of cat.

As you can see, we have been sorely maligned and mistreated by you, the subject. It is clear to us that the small payment of canned cow lips in snot and the occasional scratch behind the ears is truly a miniscule one to pay for the protection and adoration we obviously show to you and yet, it is clearly too much for you. We are disappointed.

It is also clear that you perceive us to be small and without power. To that we can only say this: did you think the fact that the black and white thumbless one vomited her body weight on the white carpet this morning was coincidence? Think about it.

The Thumbless Ones

p.s. We didn't appreciate that crack above about the can opener.

I love my cats. I do. But if something happens to me...well, you know where to look.