Okay, not really, and you'd think I'd learn. It is a known fact that the universe only listens to these kinds of things when you don't want them to really happen. I could say "Let's give Ms. Knitingale $1,000,000" until I turn blue and not one penny would turn up, but I'll bet now that I titled the post the way I did, the computer will explode on the fourth picture or something
First, some answers:
Why yes, Jo in Ireland--you can DEFINITELY come along. In fact, how cool would it be if we could all get together and just hang out somewhere for a weekend? Bet we'd terrify the muggles.
And yes, Jo in England--I'd LOVE a lesson in spindling for the terrified! I've now managed to forget my spindle on two occasions when very lovely and talented people could have taught me. Fear of failure? Me? Nah...
And to whoever said it, I have no idea why cats feel the need to barf on carpet, but there you have it. I can just see the little wheels turning in their fuzzy heads: "hmmm...I feel a bit queasy...must have been that lizard with a mouse chaser. I'd better find me some carpet--something really nice and expensive." Mind you, the whole cat handbook is much like that. For instance, I'm sure many of you are aware of the chapter regarding the inversely proportional relationship between the amount of money you spend on something and the amount of pleasure the cat is allowed to glean from it. Toss a paper bag on the floor and the cat is entertained for hours. Spend $30 plus shipping on a clever cat toy shaped like a fish with little dangly things on it and the cat will stare at it disdainfully before turning its back and bathing in a most snooty fashion. If you really spend on it, the cat will be afraid of it.
Such is the law of cats, and such is the reason I am the owner of a painfully costly fish toy with danglies and crinkles and all manner of kitty temptations that Grace is fairly certain is Satan in sparkles. On the other hand, her collection of little plastic strips torn from milk jug lids is rather staggering. And, of course, she ADORES them.
But, having exhausted the possibilities of feline digestive pyrotechnics, I offer you.....yarn porn:
The pictures don't really do this justice, but it's a stunningly lovely 100% wool in shades of blue that remind me of the sea on a cloudy day, and each skein is a whopping 337 yards. Plenty for a sweater....and just $20. Total. How, you may ask? Well, though it may seem as though I must have provided some sort of terribly inappropriate favors to a yarn store owner, the truth is that Monica took me to the wooly grail I was mentioning before: a yard sale of nothing but high end yarn. Dudes. I'm not sure I didn't drool on half of it.
It took us awhile to get there, being as how someone in the Portland city planning department thinks it's terribly clever to make at least 40% of the streets run in fits and starts and not go all the way through. No matter--more time for chatting and giggling like morons. But the sale....oh. I think I need this lady to move into Redmond where I live, because she was apparently selling the stuff from her stash that she no longer wants. This suggests that her actual stash, her SURVIVING stash if you will, is about the size of Switzerland. I could use a neighbor like that, particularly when good sense has gotten the better of me by pointing out that I already have enough yarn to make a life-sized felted submarine and nowhere near enough lifetime left to knit it all unless my life expectancy has suddenly morphed to 336 years. At those times, I could just cruise by this woman's house and know immediately that I have yards and yards to go before reaching complete yarn insanity, and I feel that this would comfort me.
We also went to a charming store called Knit/Purl, where still more yarn demanded to be taken home:
Colinette Jitterbug is on the right, Shi Bui on the left. The plan is to make socks with black heels and toes and ribbing so that the Colinette will go a bit further. Naturally, I need more sock yarn like I need a crazed badger in my underwear, but they have no sales tax in Oregon (compared to the nearly 9% we pay here in Washington...and the governer has yet to send an itemized statement of exactly what he's DOING with all my hard-earned yarn money) and...well....you know. You've all been there--I know you know.
I'm quite astounded that that's all the yarn I bought, but I was helped by the fact that the store that was supposed to have acres of Blue Moon actually didn't have much at all, and the saleslady was kind of rude. Whoever you are rude saleslady, I salute you. And my bank account thanks you wholeheartedly.
On the homefront, I finally have some square pictures (as opposed to what? Rhomboids? No, pictures of squares--not square pictures...although they are...).
This startling display of industriousness (all 21 of them) was all from one person--none other than my own mother-in-law who absolutely went to town when she learned that she could crochet them (she likes crocheting much more than knitting...I don't hold that against her). Thank you so very much, Judy. I love you to pieces.
This box of squares--14 in all--came from a group of incredibly talented and generous knitters in Montana who call themselves the Yellowstone Unravellers. Their stated goal is to produce enough squares to make one whole blanket. Given that they're nearly halfway there, I don't doubt they'll make it. Ladies, let me know when you meet. I think I need to send you something yummy for one of your knitnights.
Ed likes them, too.
Paula in Iowa wowed me with these--doesn't the one in the middle of the bottom row just do things to your mind? I love it! Paula also has the distinction of making me laugh until I nearly hurt myself. There was a note in the box that said that she was sorry (no need), that she had tried to crochet the borders on them but she hates to crochet. No problem, Paula. They're already almost all done. Marti (who rocks like you wouldn't believe) helped me with a couple. Anyway, when I looked more deeply into the box, I was delighted to find a square with two sides bordered....still connected to the skein of black yarn, which was also in the box! I'm not sure why that tickles me so much, except I can't help but imagine poor Paula crocheting for as long as she could stand it and then saying "Well, screw this for a joke!" and tossing the whole shebang in the box! It was awesome, Paula, and I love you for it (among other things).
All right, I think I'm caught up. There are still more rose garden pictures but blogger hasn't begun to ooze black smoke yet, so I'll refrain from pushing my luck. Knit on, my dear friends. I so wish I could meet all of you.....