The Straight Male Knitter

Papal Bull

2013-03-13T20:25:00.002-07:00

Honestly, I thought I had a shot.

In fact, I'd even picked out my new name: Erasmo I. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

But it wasn't to be.

I'd like to think I got at least a few votes. Maybe even that it was close, and I just lost by a cardinal or two. But of course since they burn the ballots, I guess we'll never know for sure.

Luckily, I've got a plan for consoling myself. You see, I've been hoping for some time to find a new companion. Someone who is a good listener. Who doesn't argue. Maybe even someone who doesn't openly object when I spout nonsense. After all, if I'd gotten the job I'd be infallible - that would've been fun. And since I didn't get the job, I'm still plenty fallible. But now I've found someone who doesn't seem to notice.

Here she is. Isn't she lovely? She was needing a new home, and being of a charitable disposition I thought it was only appropriate that I offer her space in my home. To take off the chill of the evening, I'm letting her borrow my Winter of 2012/2013 scarf - done in Malabrigo worsted. I hadn't tried brioche stitch before. Love the result. Didn't particularly enjoy the knitting as it seemed to take a long time to finish - what with knitting every row twice. Mrs. TSMK was kind enough to lend a hat I'd made her for Christmas - but also insisted that she be somewhat decent and put on a skirt.

I haven't decided what to name my new ladyfriend yet. If you have an idea for a good name, shoot me an email at the address to the right of this post with your suggestion. I'll take suggestions until the end of March - and then announce her new name at that time. To the winner goes the prize: a skein or two of my new favorite yarn.

Brian

Conclave

2013-03-03T17:58:00.001-08:00

I figure I've got a shot.

In fact, I think I've got a better shot than most. Here's how I see it breaking down.

First of all, the world's population is roughly 50.25% male. I doubt I have to explain to you the probabilities of someone lacking the Y chromosome getting the job.

Second, roughly 26% of the world is under the age 15. That simply isn't going to happen. If nothing else, consider the vocabulary of that demographic. Can you really see someone wearing the mitre who uses "like" or "dude" in every sentence? I didn't think so.

Third, almost 8% of the world population is already at retirement age. Now sure, this job isn't one that exactly requires youthful vigor - but the last guy just retired for reasons of old age. He took the job at the spry age of 78 - you'd like to think that the college has learned its lesson.

Fourth, consider the ugly fact of race. The reality is that there hasn't been a guy in the job yet (possibly excluding the first few) who wasn't -ahem - pale of complexion. Now I know what you're saying. You can flip a coin 49 times in a row and come up heads, but the odds of heads on the 50th toss are still 50/50. And you're right. But this isn't a coin flip. There are people and their prejudices involved in this decision - and if I had to handicap the race I'd suggest that the roughly 66% of the world population that is of Asian descent is at a decided disadvantage for this particular position. Not that they're not qualified. Many of them are. In fact, many are far more qualified than me. But the likelihood of that college electing an Asian dude? Pretty slim.

So add it up. Take the folks with the right plumbing, exclude the young guys, the old guys, and all the Asian guys, and what are you left with? Of the original 7 billion or so, you're down to 700 million and change. In other words, we just eliminated 90% of the potential applicants. I'm in the top 10%.

So like I said, I figure I've got a shot.

Now it is true, that there are some problems. First, I'm not actually Catholic. But I did briefly attend Catholic school in the 7th grade - before the incident, that is. And I've matriculated from not just one but two Jesuit universities. So that's got to be good for something.

And, it should be noted that just because I'm married and have children doesn't necessarily mean I've got no shot. After all, I wouldn't be the first guy to hold the job with those particular traits.

In fact, let's just lay the cards on the table. My not being Catholic (and being married with kids) might actually be a positive. Bring some fresh thinking to the position, and all that. Nothing radical - maybe just a redesign of the vestments, banjo music during the mass, fresh coat of paint on the company car. You know, stuff like that...

Well, on the off chance that I am elected, I'm pleased to announce that I've got the time for the job. I've just finished the commitment made last fall to do four items for a charity auction. This last piece is Gwendolyn, by Stefanie Bold. I've done it in a Madelinetosh lace weight. This one is going to KJ, the mother of a good friend.

For the photos, we were pleased to get a sunny day. This time of the year, that's got to be some kind of omen.

See? I'm a shoe-in for this gig.

~Brian

Crochet

2013-01-21T13:35:00.000-08:00

Although I spent several years in high school and college studying French, I afraid I've lost most of what I learned. And that is somewhat sad considering that, at the peak of my skills, I had the vocabulary of a precocious and yet largely illiterate 5 year old French child. L'enfant terrible indeed.

But if I'm fair to myself, I've really only had two occasions, outside of the classroom, to use my French. One one occasion, in Disney World of all places, I was asked by a French couple for directions to the toilet. At least I hope that's what they asked, because that's where I sent them. It is entirely possible I misunderstood, and that those particular tourists left the Magic Kingdom with a very confused understanding of Mister Toad's Wild Ride.

My second opportunity came when I myself was a tourist - visiting Montreal. In a grocery store I was asked whether I preferred paper or plastic bags for my purchases. I'm pleased to say that I nailed the answer.

So it was with some trepidation that I weighed learning to crochet. It sounds, after all, quite French. Just the attitude with which one must pronounce the word gives it away.

But recently, I was asked to make an alligator. This would be project 3 of 4 for my firm's auction for a local food bank. And try as I might, I really couldn't come up with a good knitting pattern for an alligator. In fact, I expanded my search to look for patterns for cayman, crocodiles and ill-tempered iguanas with glandular disorders. But no luck. The only pattern I found that I liked was for crochet.

Zut alors!

So despite my failure to recall my French, or indeed even appreciate the finer points of French culture (honestly, all wine tastes basically the same to me) I've learned to crochet. Not particularly well, mind you. But well enough to finish the project. Here he is -

~Brian

Dinosaur Smell

2012-11-01T13:45:00.000-07:00

Greetings Internet,

It is been some time since my last post. Let me fill you in on the details of the last several weeks.

First, I’ve been experimenting with gravity. As it turns out, heavy things tend, when unsupported, to fall toward the center of the Earth. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that light things too tend to fall toward the center of the Earth. And you’re right. But they do fall less spectacularly. So, if for example you were to drop the left rear of a late 90s SUV off of a floor jack and have it hit the ground within inches of you – that would be pretty spectacular. Yep. Gravity is serious business.

On what I assure you is a completely unrelated note, I was out of knitting commission for a while. It turns out that it is difficult to knit with a cast-type-thing on your hand. Almost as difficult as it is to determine whether you’ve broken your scaphoid bone after multiple x-rays. But not nearly so difficult as keeping yourself from sniffing the cast. If I could ask The Echidna one thing, it would be why I find myself compelled to smell something even after I know it is noxious. Whether it be the dog’s feet or a slab of Stilton, my nose is ready for duty.

Having divested myself of my foul-smelling accessory, I returned to the task of making auction items for our recent food-bank fundraiser. The next item on the list was a sweater requested for Leo, the son of a co-worker. Specifically, Steggie. I was more than pleased to do this, as I’ve always liked the pattern. In fact, I suspect I’d wear this sweater myself if I could find or make it in the right size.

I was given free rein to choose the colors, which led to an interesting philosophical question: would dinosaurs wear purple? So-called scientists would have us believe that dinosaurs ultimately turned into birds. And I’ve seen birds with some crazy plumage. But I can’t say that I’ve ever personally seen a bird sporting purple feathers. Ultimately, I concluded that dinosaurs must have been willing to wear purple. How else could you explain Barney?

So here it is, Leo’s Steggie. It is largely identical to the pattern, but with a slight variation on the plumage of the hood.

~TSMK

Will Knit for Food pt 1

2012-09-12T19:47:00.000-07:00

The Republic of Dadifornia

Summer, it seems is on its last legs here in the Pacific northwest. There is a decided chill in the air. Though we gave it a good try, we were unable to match our record for most consecutive days without rain (51 days, set back in the 1950s). The rain has started to return. The mosquitoes seem to have departed - replaced by droves of spiders.

It is, in short, the time of year when a (relatively) young man's thoughts turn to sweaters and fleece. And quiet evenings sitting by the fire in the Republic of Dadifornia with an attractive redhead after the kids have gone to bed. Good stuff, really.

It is also the time of year when a fellow starts to feel seriously that he must put aside the laissez-faire of the summer, and get to business on his obligations lest Uncle Arvide spread it all over town that he is a welcher.

So that is precisely what I've begun to do. Several weeks back I agreed to make a number of items for a fundraiser put on at the firm. A contest among several local law firms to see which can raise the most money for a local food bank. Four of my colleagues agreed to donate good money to have me make something, and since I didn't want to disappoint, I got to work.

The first is now complete. This is my interpretation of Juno Regina, knit in lace weight Shibui. My good friend J.R. was the first to pull the trigger on the donation and, roughly 660 yards of mohair and silk later, her project is the first off the needles. I delivered it to her today, and I'm pleased to report that she seems to like it. I know I liked making it.

~TSMK

Best Foot Forward

2012-07-31T20:28:00.001-07:00

This morning, on the way in to the office, I ran into a friend. A former colleague, he and I share many interests – scotch being among them.

Grabbing my attention, he told me he needed to share something with me. In fact, he said he needed to share something about me.

Being somewhat prone to narcissism (I do blog, after all), I was naturally interested in what he might need to share. Unfortunately, however, the opportunity for him to share this great secret didn’t arise during the commute, and I made my way to the office in suspense.

A short while later, I shot him an email. What did he need to talk with me about? Was everything ok?

He responded with a cut and paste from facebook. One of his friends. And as I read the text, my head began to swim.

Mr. Rogersish normal looking guy. Felt man purse holding his knitting. Vibram shoes. #onlyontheferry

In the immortal words of Keanu Reeves: Whoa.

First of all, I look very little like Mr. Rogers. And I never interact with puppets. Well, almost never. There was that one time in college. But that was just a phase.

Second, what’s wrong with Vibram shoes? They are comfortable, sporty and yes, just a little bit quirky. In essence, they are the Fiat 500 Abarth of footwear. Sure, it may not be for everyone. But that’s just because not everyone has the necessary forza di carattere.

Third. It isn’t a man purse. It is a satchel. But it is felted. By me. It kicks ass.

And it does hold my knitting. Currently, it is holding the first of four projects I've agreed to make "to order" as part of a fundraiser for a local food bank. The first is my interpretation of Juno Regina. I cast on this past Saturday, and hope to share the finished product soon.

~TSMK

Of Vice and Arugula

2012-07-16T21:01:00.003-07:00

Let me be frank. I loathe arugula.

I want to like it. Badly. But I just don't. And I feel the same way about Kale and Swiss Chard. As far as I can tell, Swiss Chard is about as useful as a Swiss Army Knife. Sure it can do the job you ask of it. But it won't do it particularly well and you're likely to be left with a bitter taste in your mouth and a strong suspicion that something else might have been better.

In the case of the Swiss Army Knife, that something else might simply be a rock. Come to think of it, there are probably also some rocks that taste better than Swiss Chard.

The problem is, these so-called vegetables are supposed to be good for me, so I feel like I should like them. And in my experience, any time I feel like I should something, but don't want to, the should feeling is closely followed by the three horsemen of the psychosalypse: shame, remorse and failure.

At the same time, I've noted a predisposition toward enjoying things that may not be good for me - like high-velocity two-wheeled transportation, firearms and striking up occasionally incendiary conversations with complete strangers. These can be fun and exciting events. But of course I don't often feel pleased with myself after these escapades. They haunt me. Like the time I told the folks soliciting on the sidewalk for a noble cause that I couldn't support their mission because I was not, in fact, in favor of human rights. Honestly, how could I say such a thing? Or the time I looked deep into the eyes of the very earnest young woman collecting signatures for a petition on an undoubtedly worthy state ballot initiative and said: "I'm sorry; I don't speak English."

I know that I shouldn't enjoy doing or saying these things. But sometimes I really do. There's something to be said for the thrill of doing things slightly outside the ordinary course. This is precisely the reason you'll see my honorary doctorate in metaphysics hanging neatly framed in my office - but the law degrees are nowhere to be found.

Here in Seattle, we lost a great institution a few years back: The Lusty Lady. It was a landmark. A peep-show environment right across the street from the Seattle Art Museum and right next door to The Four Seasons. It was, in every conceivable way, a thumb in the eye of respectability and decorum.

Outside the Lady, the marquee offered up funny snippets or clever sayings - designed to attract attention. So every St. Patrick's Day, for example, you could count on it reading "Erin Go Braugh-less" for a few days or so. Classic stuff.

The establishment had a habit of giving away a t-shirt to anyone who could come up with a new saying good enough for use on the marquee. And I tried for years to come up with something good enough to get used. But no luck. I worked on crafting tawdry double-entendre for years but none ever made it to publication on the marquee. Just once, I thought I'd done it. There was a group of somewhat notorious crab fishermen in town for a media tour - but apparently "Deadliest Snatch" wasn't precisely the message that the Lady was trying to convey.

Oh well.

And with that as background, my most recently completed item kind of makes a bit of sense, I guess. Mrs. TSMK's brother and his wife recently welcomed the birth of a son. When asked if they might like something made for the little one, her brother mentioned a viking hat I'd done for one of my sons a while back. The thought of a newborn in an absurd hat is always fun - so I was happy to oblige. Willem's hat is below. I've made it slightly big so that he can wear it once he begins to toddle about. After all, you can't really pillage until you can toddle, now can you?

~TSMK

Getting Cold Feet

2012-05-18T21:29:00.001-07:00

Way back when - when I was an undergraduate student at a certain university, I was one day summoned to meet with an academic advisor. It seemed that I'd amassed quite a number of credits. Enough credits to mean that I would theoretically need to graduate the next semester. But there was a problem.

I hadn't declared a major.

That isn't entirely true. I had declared a major (music) when I initially enrolled. But I hadn't actively pursued that major for some time and had actually managed to avoid classes within that discipline for a few semesters. This had the academic advisor types somewhat troubled, and my advisor told me - without even cracking a smile - that I would need to declare a major immediately or else I would be persona non grata on campus. She kindly showed me a list of options that she'd pulled together - potential majors for which I'd already satisfied a large percentage of the requirements. By picking one of these, she said, I could remain in good standing, take the final courses necessary to complete my degree, and graduate.

According to her analysis, I had two clear options available: Philosophy and Linguistics.

I looked at the course catalog. One of these options gave me the chance to take classes like Metaphysics and Epistemology. The other did not. It was an easy choice.

But in hindsight, I think I also would have enjoyed studying linguistics. I have always found language (and really all types of communication) to be a fascinating topic. In fact, just recently I spent an enjoyable afternoon discussing with a friend a SETI analysis of the frequency of certain dolphin vocalizations (with the implications that there is intentional content - i.e., meaning - being conveyed among the animals making the sounds).

But linguistics would need to wait for another day - leaving me to explore language on my own. As part of that exploration I find myself consistently fascinated by idioms. To say that I use them a lot wouldn't exactly be letting the cat out of the bag. In fact, I'm on idioms like white on rice. As a rule of thumb, I use them for the whole nine yards. Get the picture? Because I could beat this particular dead horse until the cows come home to roost.

And with that as background, I should mention my most recently completed project: a new pair of socks for Mrs. TSMK. She gets cold feet. Literally.

The yarn is Malabrigo Sock - and the pattern is a slightly modified version of Riff by Lise Brackbill.

I'm pleased to report that she likes them. And, linguistically speaking, I'm glad she doesn't seem to be getting cold feet about the whole marriage bit; we're celebrating our 16th anniversary this next week.

~TSMK

Naked

2012-04-10T13:51:00.000-07:00

Recently I was asked why I’d kept this blog quasi-anonymous. Was I afraid of the stigma associated with being a guy who knits? And wasn’t I perpetuating the stereotype of knitting as somehow effeminate by “selling myself as a novelty”?

Weighty questions, these.

The first is easy to answer. I’m not afraid of people knowing that I knit. In fact, most people who know me on a personal level have seen me in the middle of a project. And since I’m a big proponent of knitting in public, and do so essentially every workday, I feel like if I had anything to prove in terms of knitting bravery I would have proved it long ago. I’m afraid of many things - spiders, for example - but having people learn that I like to knit isn’t one of them.

The second question, though… That’s a doozy. Am I perpetuating a stereotype with this blog? I hope not as it certainly isn’t my intent. For that matter, I’m not particularly comfortable with the idea of “selling myself” – regardless of whether it is as a novelty or otherwise. There’s something a bit too transactional about that notion for my taste.

But regardless of whether perpetuating a stereotype was my intent, is it a consequence of my actions?

I don’t know.

But after discussion with my most trusted advisor (Mrs. TSMK), I’ve decided that it makes sense to clear the air, state my position on a few things, and try to put to rest any questions that might otherwise linger about who I am, or why I write these intermittent and frequently goofy posts. So here goes.

My name is Brian.

I am 38 years old.

I grew up primarily in the Southeast and now make my home in the Pacific Northwest.

I am happily married (15 years) to a woman I began dating when I was 17.

I am the father of three boys.

I am a practicing Buddhist.

I believe that my purpose on earth is to try to help alleviate the suffering of others.

I believe that the idea that one’s gender or sexual orientation dictates all of one’s choices in life is false, and that this falsehood is one significant cause of suffering.

I am hopeful that by writing these posts I may help to eliminate this suffering.

And I am hopeful that by writing these posts I may provide some small measure of enjoyment to those may read them.

Whew.

With that out of the way – let me share with you my most recently (almost) finished project. It is a messenger bag, knit and then highly felted. All that is left is to attach buttons for the front flap. But with this bag, I’m thinking that I want something handmade for buttons. So I’ve found some particularly nice beach rocks – which I hope to make into buttons for the bag.

I like this quite a bit, and plan to use it for my commuting bag for the foreseeable future. In fact, I like it so much that I've decided to part with what was previously my favorite bag. I put that one up for auction. Should someone of a particularly crafty mentality decide to buy it - I hope you will let me know as I'll make sure to include some sort of yarn or other knitting goodness inside when it is shipped off.

may you be free from danger

may you be healthy

may you be happy
may you live in peace

~Brian

(TSMK)

We Are Stardust

2012-04-03T14:08:00.000-07:00

March is now memory. Or is it?

For the past few weeks, I’ve been spending some time on the existential hamster wheel. Spring is finally here – and in a gesture inclined toward seasonal solidarity I have thrown off all vestiges of facial hair. With luck, a freshly shaven chin will help usher in a season of growth in the garden.

But it isn’t just the garden that seems to be experiencing growth. And it isn’t only our rabbits that seem to be multiplying.

In these past several weeks I’ve learned of three additional arrivals. One is here, and two are expected any moment. None are relations, but all are indeed related inasmuch as I find that their arrival impacts those around me and I am in turn changed by their arrival. And, though I know that suffering finds roots not only at the rejection of the unpleasant but also the grasping of the pleasant, and acknowledge full well that they are not exactly “new”, I nevertheless find myself feeling joy in welcoming these friends to this particular corner of the neighborhood.

The first is a girl. As I write this, she has not yet arrived. But I have seen her mother, Chanel, almost every weekday for the last several years. In fact, she is often one of the first people with whom I converse. When I see her, she greets me with a smile and a cheerful voice: “Are you having your usual?” And with those five words, and the promise of hot coffee in hand, my workday begins.

A short while ago, I noticed that she wasn’t standing behind the register any longer. Instead, she had begun propping herself up on a stool. And it was only then that I noticed something was different.

Now in fairness, I stand by a firm rule that I will not insinuate, suggest or acknowledge the fact of a pregnancy unless either: (i) I have been informed by the expectant mother of the pregnancy; or (ii) the child is actually crowning and assistance is required. Standing by this rule has allowed me to avoid congratulating many not-yet-expecting mothers. And since I am capable of embarrassing myself quite well enough without committing this particular faux-pas, I think this is a rule worth keeping.

When I saw her leaning against the stool, I almost violated this most sacred of rules. But at the last moment my wits returned to me and I was able to reshape the question that was swirling in my mind: “Are you feeling ok? It was a great relief when she took the bait – telling me that the baby was starting to make her feel very uncomfortable. A few mornings later, I learned she was having a little girl. This was helpful information, since I had already decided the child needed a blanket. Nothing too fancy, but something with bright contrasting colors to attract the little one’s eyes. I decided on square, with mitered corners.

But procreation, it seemed, was in the air. For when I was about half finished with the blanket, I found myself on the phone with a good friend and former colleague, Megan. A few years back, I saw Megan nearly every day. Now, I talk with her quite a lot but rarely see her in person. And as we chatted about the crystalline beauty that is the federal regulation of securities – she seemed distracted. In fact, she seemed unwell. Without knowing the cause of her discomfort, I asked if she was feeling unwell. “Heartburn” she replied. I let it pass – but, seeing as we were at the lunch hour I suggested at the end of the call that she might benefit from a bite to eat. “Wouldn’t help,” she replied. “Pretty much anything I eat these days gives me heartburn. But I only have about three weeks left…”.

To say that there was a pregnant pause on the phone would be both an understatement and a bad pun. So I will avoid such a comment.

But sure enough, when I expressed disbelief Megan confirmed the truth. She was indeed expecting, and quite soon. A boy. I redoubled my efforts on the blanket – wanting to get it finished so that I could get started on something for the little fellow. I decided on a toy, found a pattern and set to work. The pattern is 60+ years old – originally published in a newspaper in Sydney. And although it claims to be a bear, I think it might serve as a stand-in for a mouse. Either way, however, I’m hopeful that the moss stitch texture will feel good in little hands.

But good things come in threes – and there was still one shoe left to drop. For Mrs. TSMK’s mother called and began dropping hints. A friend was becoming a great-grandmother. It would be a little girl. Could I make something? Just something small – like booties.

I resisted the urge to go with booties – too pedestrian. But the footwear theme seemed right. So how about a pair of mary jane shoes, done in sparkly pink with a pearlescent button? Too much? Probably – but I had to make them anyway.

Welcome to the neighborhood kids. Have a good time.

~TSMK

Natural Wonders

2012-03-11T17:32:00.000-07:00

Years from now, when my children have children of their own, I look forward to telling the tale. I will embellish it, of course. But only slightly.

"Kids", I'll say. "Let me tell you about the great rabbit migration of twenty-twelve. And they'll listen with rapt attention as I tell of the days when rabbits roamed free. Eight of them. In the kitchen.

The calendar doesn't agree, but from the looks of things, spring has actually arrived. Gigi's kits are growing like mad. The hops have started growing in the garden and the tobacco has sprouted in the office. And the spring auction season is well underway.

In addition to the shawl I did for the PAWS auction - I agreed to do a piece for my two older boys' school auction. Since lace shawls seem to be popular at the event, I stayed the course.

This is my version of Haruni, by Emily Ross. The pattern suggests doing it in a slightly heavier yarn - but I'm a sucker for laceweight blocked nearly to death. So I've done mine in Malabrigo lace. At about 44 inches wide, it isn't exactly huge. But the merino-based Malabrigo (even if there is only about 45 grams of it in the shawl) is amazingly warm. Just right for a blustery day on the Puget Sound - or a slightly misty walk through the woods.

If you're local and you like what you see - come to the auction and make it your own. I understand tickets are still available.

Last, as a bit of housekeeping, I was contacted recently by a nice lady in the UK - doing an article on the Phenomenon of the Male Knitter. Interesting bit and worth a read - although that last guy she interviewed doesn't seem entirely trustworthy.

~TSMK

Things I've Learned

2012-02-29T11:23:00.000-08:00

Every so often, I think it is probably wise to do something of a mental debriefing: to reflect on things I’ve learned recently. This morning, I found myself doing just that. And, as is my custom, I will now share with you what I’ve learned, what I think I’ve learned, and what I’m not sure whether I’ve learned or not.

One thing I’ve learned is that every year, without fail, I prematurely predict the arrival of spring. I notice a few crocus (crocuses? crocusi?) poking out of the ground, a bud on a cherry tree or two, and congratulate myself on having made it through another long, dark and wet winter here in the Pacific Northwest. Thus congratulated, I will look out of my window and notice snow flurries. And so one thing that I think I’ve learned is that while I am actually rather poor at predicting spring – I am reasonably good at precipitation prognostication.

Another thing I’ve learned is that there is great satisfaction in finishing projects. I am notorious for keeping multiple projects going at a time. So much so, that while helping me organize my stash and projects (most awesome Christmas gift ever) Mrs. TSMK filled an entire plastic bin with things “in the works”. Honestly, I knew I had a few things going – but didn’t realize I had a full bin’s worth. So since the holidays I’ve been trying to finish a thing or twelve. I completed a sweater vest that I started roughly a year ago, as well as a pair of socks (I’ll share those with you in future posts). So I am making progress.

But it is difficult to focus on finishing your vegetables when your dessert is available – and even more so when people are actually asking you to eat the dessert. And one thing I know for certain is that just as certain as shame follows spandex, the arrival of the crocus (crocusae?) is followed by the beginning of the charity auction season. I’ve been asked to donate to two such auctions this year – and have delivered the first item: an asymmetrical scarf/wrap/thing done in Madelinetosh with beads. From tip to tip it is about 50 inches – and the sheen of the yarn seems to complement the beads nicely. If you’re local and want to see it up close, or better yet buy it and support a good cause, you’ll want to attend the Progressive Animal Welfare Society (PAWS) Wild Night Gala on April 14. Hope to see you there!

~TSMK

An evening well spent

2012-02-24T16:12:00.000-08:00

Last night, I found myself wondering about many things. Like why it is that those three big pyramids on the Giza plateau are in an alignment almost identical to the three stars in Orion's belt. And why it is that I can't seem to find Yoo-Hoo in the Pacific Northwest.

Some of these things (like the Yoo-Hoo), I wonder why I wonder. But if there is one thing that daily meditation has taught me it is that my mind goes where it goes, and I really shouldn't worry about it.

As for the pyramids, Orion's accessory and last night, well I wondered these things because I was sitting outside on the front porch. Mrs. TSMK had a girls' night out. And I had a guy's night at home. Just me and the two other members of the TSMK Blog staff - the Labrador and the Corgi. We sat on the porch, the three of us, and gazed at the stars, sipped excellent bourbon out of a jelly jar and puffed on a pipe. Well, actually the three of us didn't do those two last things. Those were just me. I've found that the Labrador drools a bit too much to let him puff on my pipe. And bourbon makes the Corgi a smidge gassy.

And while sitting on the porch, I had a moment to use my latest completed object. This has no rhyme, reason or pattern. But it was something that needed to be done: a felted pipe cozie/condom. And, to go with it - a similar cozie/condom for my tamper.

The yarn is Shetland DK. The pipe is a Luciano. The bourbon is gone.

~TSMK

A matter of National Importance

2012-02-13T17:28:00.000-08:00

Gentlereaders,

It isn’t often that I use this forum for something other than pure entertainment purposes. But today I feel I must. Indeed, I believe I would be shirking my responsibilities as a quasi-public-pseudo-personality if I did not bring an important issue to your immediate attention.

But I must warn you. The issue I raise today is of paramount importance. In fact, it may be the most pressing issue of the day – and yet our political leaders appear ambivalent to the pending crisis. We stand, as it were, on a precipice. And it is my great fear that we find ourselves today standing precisely where the Romans stood as Nero fiddled into the night.

We are losing the pastry race.

I know that those are bitter words to swallow.

Allow me to explain. I am in the throes of OFB 2012 (“Operation Fat Bastard” ©TSMK). Like many non-recurring charges on a corporation’s balance sheet, OFB is a one-time event that seems to occur on a yearly basis. If memory serves, OFB 2012 is sixth consecutive observance of this once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

To mark this auspicious occasion, participants spend absurd amounts of time running on moving belts while pondering the mysteries of chafed nipples, and attempting to avoid hernia while lifting heavy objects.

Like all semi-religious observances, there is also a certain amount of fasting involved. Not your average – don’t eat a single thing – kind of fasting. Just the kind of fasting where you don’t eat anything that you actually enjoy. Ten pounds of raw spinach? Knock yourself out. A single morsel of chocolate? Only at the risk of eternal damnation.

The goal of OFB, like all such observances, is to perform penance for prior sins, and to maintain a certain level of grace in the eyes of a more evolved being. But, of course, with denial of the flesh comes temptation.

And it is precisely that temptation that has caused me to become aware of the pastry-debacle facing our nation today. For essentially every first-world country has a signature pastry. But as far as I can tell, we have none of any meaningful importance.

I have the solution. For I have, in a fit of anaerobic light-headedness, had a mouth-watering vision of splendor.

We need a chocolate-covered bagel-thing. In its ideal form, this delectable morsel would have the chewy saltiness of a traditional kosher-salt bagel – but would covered (nay – drenched) with a chocolate ganache. With a bagel such as this, we could take over the world.

In other news – tonight I will finish what is (I think) my fifth pair of socks. And this pair is for me. The pattern is Java – found on Knitty. Rather than run the ribbed cables out to the end of the toe (and run what seemed like a decent risk of running out of yarn – I’ve used the pattern’s decreasing structure but some left over Socks that Rock yarn to do a contrasting toe. I like these quite a lot.

And in other news, Gigi is now the proud mother of eight young kits. She would have written the second installment of the Ballad of Buster and Gigi, but she’s been quite busy chasing Buster for child support while nursing the hungry kits. So she asked me to provide the update – along with a picture of the growing brood.

This brings our herd of angora to 14 - and I'm already quite eager to spin some of the wool from the dark kits in this litter.

~TSMK

The Land of Port

2012-01-24T09:39:00.000-08:00

Malabrigo Rios Scrunchy Scarf

I enjoy the occasional port. Something well-aged, served after dinner either with or in place of dessert. Maybe near a crackling fire, with a sleeping dog at my feet. Good stuff, really.

So I'm pleasantly optimistic about this weekend, when I will travel to Portland, Oregon for business. Now in fairness I've been to Portland several times before and never managed to get a decent port. But hope springs eternal.

I'm going to be in meetings all day on Saturday, but if I make it down early enough on Friday I plan to check out a few of the local yarn shops. If you happen to have a favorite in the area, shoot me a message and let me know.

Manos del Uruguay Slipped Stitch Scarf

Continuing in the Christmas theme from my last post, let me share a trio of scarves. I like making scarves for gifts because they typically take just long enough to make to be pleasant - but not so long as to turn to drudgery. This Christmas, I made five: one for my assistant, one for my sister, one for a good friend, one for my son's kindergarten teacher, and one for the Christmas-gift-listapalooza giveaway.

Malabrigo Worsted Bias-Ribbed Scarf

For my son's teacher, one skein of Manos del Uruguay with a slipped stitch pattern. For my good friend, one skein of Malabrigo Worsted (a personal favorite), knit on the bias with a ribbed pattern. And for the contestant, one skein of Malabrigo Rios, knit in a scrunchy pattern and then blocked within an inch of it's wooly life. All three were fun to make - and true to history each was done in about a week of commuting time.

~TSMK

The Ballad of Buster and Gigi

2012-01-12T09:31:00.000-08:00

He desired her from the moment they first met. The dark eyes. The button nose. The voluptuous hips. And that hair. She was a goddess. He knew he must have her for his own.

From the instant their eyes locked, she knew he was trouble. The kind of guy her mother would have warned her about, if she'd bothered to hang around. The kind of guy who would love her and, almost certainly, leave her. The kind of guy who would make her a single mother without a second thought.

She vowed to be strong. She would resist. She would not submit to his advances.

But still, she could feel his eyes burning into her. Penetrating her soul from behind the cold grey bars of his cell.

And when the fateful day finally did arrive, the day she was delivered into his clutches, she found herself unable to resist. Though she knew it was foolish, she found herself falling under his spell until finally, drunk on passion and papaya, she lost herself in his embrace.

When it was over, it was exactly as she feared. He had his way with her, and never gave her a second glance. Clearly she meant nothing to him - just another conquest. A notch in the hutch. Now he was gone. And her belly was starting to swell.

[Stay tuned for the next installment of the ballad - hopefully around February 1]

In my last post, I began to describe holiday projects. Continuing that theme, let me share another - a sweater for my dad. The pattern is Smokin' - a Jared Flood design. I've done it in Ironstone, which I like for the drape as well as the variegated color. I like the shape of the sweater quite a bit, and may need to make another one for myself in something tweedy.

~TSMK

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2011-12-27T16:02:00.000-08:00

I love the Christmas season. In fact, I love almost everything about it – from the gaudy decorations to the frequently insipid music. I love Christmas so much that I’m able to avoid acts of homicide notwithstanding the every-ten-minutes Lexus commercials trying desperately to convince me that unless I get Mrs. TSMK an overpriced Toyota for Christmas I’ll never truly win her affection.

Christmas is, in my opinion, the most wonderful time of the year. Even if the song, itself, is crap.

One of the things I like the most about Christmas is that it is an excuse to give to others. I shouldn’t really need an excuse. None of us should. But for some reason, having an excuse makes it a bit easier.

This year, we did something as a family that made Christmas even that much better – some surprise gifting.

Here’s how it went down. The entire TSMK family found itself, the weekend before Christmas, at a big box retailer. This particular retailer had been making a big deal in advertisements about how it had “brought back” layaway for the holidays. I’d seen those commercials - but didn’t pay much attention until I read an article online about someone back east walking into a different big box retailer and paying off a bunch of layaway balances for complete strangers. This had gotten me thinking.

We arrived at the store and made our way to the back. Layaway, it turns out, was being handled in the same area as in-store pickup of online orders. My oldest son and I waited in the line while Mrs. TSMK walked around with the other boys to do some shopping.

Soon enough, it was our turn in line.

We’d like to pay-off some layaway.

Ok – do you have an account number?

No. We don’t have an account. We’d just like to pay off a balance or two. How do we do that?

The clerk smiled. “You’re the second person I’ve talked to this week who has done this.”

After talking about our intentions, the clerk did some digging and found a few accounts with open balances and a combination of either toys or children’s clothes. A few keystrokes and a transaction later, and we were done. By law, we apparently weren’t allowed to pay the whole balance on anyone else’s account; each account was left with a balance due of $0.01. The clerk got on the phone and began to call the account-holders to let them know they should come in and pick up their items. A quick high-five with my son, and we went off in search of the rest of the family.

But our work wasn’t done. We had budgeted a particular amount we wanted to give but hadn’t been able to meet our quota in layaway. So we started looking around.

I like watching people. But it turns out I like watching them even more when I’m plotting a gift. We stalked the aisles of the toy department. We loitered near the car seats, strollers and onesies. And then, with what we hoped was an air of confidence but was actually a feeling of tremendous nervousness – we pounced. A young woman was picking out infant clothes. A toddler sat in her cart. An infant was strapped to her chest. My son and I – hand in hand – approached her.

Excuse me

Yes?

I wonder if we might give you something. I extended my hand. I’d folded up a few bills in what I hoped wasn’t too sweaty a grip. I placed them in her hand.

Merry Christmas.

Why?

Merry Christmas.

My son and I walked away.

Our family re-enacted this scene on two more occasions in the days that would follow. I’m hopeful that each time we did this it helped to make someone’s holiday just a bit brighter. I know it did mine.

And with that – let me offer a challenge. In the year ahead make a point to give something to a complete stranger. Whether anonymously or in person – I suspect you’ll find it exhilarating – and your kindness will help make the world a better place.

Of course, with the holidays you also get knitting. And I was busy this year. All told, the breakdown was as follows:

Two sweaters
Five scarves
Two pairs of fingerless gloves
One skirt
One pair of Elf Slippers
One Pakul; and
Six wrestling masks

Rather than describe all in a single mega-post, let me start with the slippers.

As regular readers will know, I put a couple of slots on my Christmas knitting list up for grabs a few months back. Out of the many responses, I picked two. Well, actually I picked three but one turned out not to be a Christmas gift but instead a pair of labor & delivery socks - I’m pleased to say that I’ve since heard that the socks were well received and mom & beautiful baby girl are doing well.

But I digress. One of the entrants was a mother who asked about getting some elf slippers for her infant daughter, Carmen. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. I found a pattern, and here they are – made from Lamb’s Pride worsted and then felted. As recommended by the pattern, I added a bit of nonslip texture on the soles.

They were a quick knit and I like them very much. In fact, I think I may need to make Mrs. TSMK a pair.

~TSMK

2011-10-27T15:46:00.000-07:00

On the way to the office this morning, I noticed workers putting white lights around the trunks and in the branches of trees lining the street. This, of course, is a sign. A sign of the passing of the seasons. Soon, our resident bike messengers will change from spandex and t-shirts to skinny jeans and flannel; the truly destitute will once again outnumber those Seattle residents for whom panhandling appears to be merely a seasonal pastime; and Mrs. TSMK will once demonstrate a propensity for using Jimmy Buffet as a means to combat seasonal affective disorder.

And, of course, this is a sign that Christmas is nearly upon us. Time to take stock of my projects.

This year, I have a outlined a goal of making gifts for seventeen people. I started early, and have been making good progress. Nevertheless, the chill in the air seems to be whispering: knit faster… knit faster…

To date, I have completed six and three halves. On the complete list, a couple of sweaters, two wrestling masks, a pair of elf slippers and a pair of fingerless gloves. On the not-yet-complete list, a second pair of fingerless gloves, another wrestling mask (mask 3 of a planned 6) and a scarf. Good progress, but the days seem to be turning shorter. There are essentially 8 weeks remaining. Will I make it? Will I need to spend every weekend in residence at my LYS – trying to keep pace? Will I spend Christmas Eve huddled downstairs by the Amish Fireplace knitting until my fingers cramp?

Probably.

~TSMK

Wrestling with Zen

2011-10-24T20:51:00.000-07:00

As the Echidna is my witness, I've been that guy. The one you see coming down the aisle of the airplane, infant in arms, making the other passengers squirm. Or the guy constantly raising his arm in class, asking the dumb questions. Or the guy wandering into the express lane at the supermarket without noticing the incongruity between the "15 items or fewer" sign and the mountain of groceries in his cart.

And yet, I still find myself squirming when it isn't me. When I see that guy approaching.

It happened again this past week. I saw it happening, but still didn't manage to get out of my own way. Stubbornly focused on the apparent differences between us than our natural kinship as living beings.

I was sitting on the ferry. A later boat than usual, but I would be home by 8:00 or so, and that wasn't too bad. I was knitting. And, per my habit, my knitting had a soundtrack. That night, the soundtrack was classical Indian music: sitar and whatever they call those drums that always seem to play in the background. I was, as they say, in the zone.

And that's when I saw him. In fairness, he would have been difficult to overlook. I'm six foot one, and he was at least a half foot taller. Wearing a black trench coat. His closely trimmed beard was accentuated by the gold ring that pierced his septum. He was wearing a porkpie hat. And, for good measure, an eye patch. Like it or not, he had my attention.

He headed straight for me. And, despite all the empty booths in that part of the boat, he sat down directly across from me.

"Knitting"?

"yes," I replied. Trying to be polite but still inexplicably hoping to avoid a full-blown conversation.

"What is it?"

"A wrestling mask."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm making a bunch of them as Christmas gifts for my sons and a few of their friends."

"That's cool. What are you going to use for the second color?"

I looked down at the blue yarn coming off my needles. "I'm thinking red, or maybe white. Haven't decided yet."

"You've got boys"?

"Yes. I have three."

"Dude, you're Fred MacMurray!"

I chuckled.

"I always liked to knit," he said. "Never found it emasculating at all."

And then, before I could respond, he continued. It turns out he liked to sew. He started sewing when he found a roll of leopard print fabric wrapped around a palm tree after a storm. It was an omen. A sign that he should learn how to sew. And so he made a pair of leopard print cargo shorts. And then he moved on to fake fur. Soon he was making furry shorts and tight pants for all his friends.

Now, though, he mainly makes corsets and bustiers for friends. He explained in some detail how he goes about making a pattern for a skin tight corset - but honestly he lost me after he started to describe wrapping the person in plastic wrap and duct tape.

Then he started telling me about his friend. The one who works exclusively in leather and makes a lot of masks and harnesses for people with somewhat unusual private lives.

And then the boat docked, and we started to walk off together. He was still talking. Now about how useful it is to know how to sew when you live on a boat. And then, suddenly, without warning: "have a good night, Sir!". And he was gone.

Wow. He thinks I'm Fred MacMurray.

~TSMK

And The Winner Isn't...

2011-09-27T10:23:00.000-07:00

Ann from the Midwest.

Nope. Not Ann. Which isn’t to say that she didn’t put in a great entry. In fact, her entry was quite persuasive. But there was a problem with it. A big problem. A problem that, on principle, I’m not prepared to accommodate. For you see, Ann wanted to use her present early. Three days early to be specific. Anyway, before I tell you more about Ann, let me tell you about the second most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.

It was slightly more than nine years ago (nine years and three days, to be exact) – that our destines began to converge. It was night. I was sleeping. I do that sometimes. But on that particular night my sleep was interrupted. The darkness of my room was shattered and there, backlit by a blinding light, stood Mrs. TSMK.

“I think my water just broke”.

To be sure, there are worse ways to wake up. For example, you could wake up to the unexpected smell of smoke. Or perhaps the unexpected smell of cabbage.

But when you’re a soon-to-be-first-time father, and you hear something like that in the middle of the night… boy it wakes you up in a hurry.

Despite all the childbirth classes and books we’d devoured over the last several months, the level of uncertainty in this announcement was something I hadn’t anticipated.

“What do you mean, you think your water just broke?”

A lengthy discussion followed which you, gentlereader, will be spared for reasons of its graphic content.

With trembling digits, we called the obstetrician to inquire of recommended next steps. Mrs. TSMK did not seem to be in active labor and, it being the small hours of the morning, we were recommended to come in on the first ferry from Bainbridge Island to Seattle – where we planned to deliver. That ferry was set to sail at 4:45 a.m. – roughly four hours away.

Satisfied that we’d made a plan – and that we were likely to have a rather eventful day – I asked Mrs. TSMK if there was anything that I might do to make her more comfortable.

“Juice” she said.

And so, dutiful expectant father drove to the grocery store, bleary-eyed but hypervigilant, to acquire the particular brand of juice which had recently become her favorite.

Roughly 30 minutes later, I arrived back home. I turned my key in the lock, opened the door, and noticed something new. Something I’d not heard before: an oddly vigorous chuffing noise coming from upstairs. As if someone was panting. Loudly.

The ferry wasn’t set to depart for three more hours. But apparently, Mrs. TSMK wasn’t prepared to wait to begin the day’s festivities.

Fast forward three hours. We’ve been doing our best to remember every breathing childbirth technique we learned in the class. We’re actually doing reasonably well with them – but things are getting more intense with every contraction. We’re on the ferry, but sitting in the car is too uncomfortable for Mrs. TSMK – so we’re walking around on the car deck. Ferry workers are peering at us from around corners. They’re wondering whether they’re going to begin the second run of the morning already behind schedule due to a medical emergency. I’m wondering the same.

We drive off the ferry in Seattle, and I manage to hit every pothole over the 15 blocks or so to the hospital. Moments after arrival in the triage area of the obstetrics unit, Mrs. TSMK is wisely beginning to believe that better living may be achievable through modern chemistry. Her prior (and in my opinion, unnatural) insistence on natural childbirth is beginning to wane. And that’s when the nurse made the call.

Moments later, it happened. I met the second most beautiful woman in the world. Her name was Betty and she was a leggy redheaded supermodel disguised as a short Asian woman. She strode into the room with an air of confidence and, without hesitation, drove a needle into Mrs. TSMK’s back. Within moments, the sun rose in the sky. Birds began to sing and little children of every race and creed all over the earth began to hold hands and sing. Mrs. TSMK was no longer in pain. The world was a better place.

She rested and slept. And just a few hours later, I was a dad. It was, without question, the scariest and best day of my life.

So what does that have to do with Ann? Well, since that day nine years and three days ago, I’ve had the chance to have similar days on two occasions. And each time I’ve been struck by the kindness and compassion of the people who have been part of those days. Ann? Well, Ann is getting ready to do this for the 7th time! And Ann has developed a penchant for wearing brightly colored socks into the delivery room. She is due on December 22, and asked if she might receive a Christmas present of some such socks.

But I can’t allow Ann to win – because we have a hard and fast rule in our family that no one – for any reason – is permitted to open a single present before Christmas Eve. Now, if she was prepared to delay her delivery until the 24th, I could probably make an exception. But these things aren’t always possible – there could be no guarantee.

And so, Ann can’t win. But I couldn’t just leave her hanging either. And so, Ann, I’ve made you your socks. Here they are – knitted from Noro Kureyon yarn with an entrelac leg. I hope they’re colorful enough for you. And I hope that they give you some measure of comfort as you welcome your child into the world. Give him or her my best.

As for the winners – well, I’ve picked them out as well. I got a lot of wonderful entries and requests and, like with most of these giveaways, it was hard to pick who would win. But someone has to – and there were two entries in particular that grabbed me.

Carmen – you sent me a photo of Emma, who will celebrate her first birthday a few weeks before Christmas – and asked for a pair of hand-knit slippers. Well seeing as I’m the father of three boys, I don’t often get the chance to make things for little girls. I’m seizing the opportunity. Now to pick out a pattern.

Jessy – you sent me a limerick about how you give away everything you make and don’t have much handknit of your own. It was funny and made me laugh. But then I noticed a small tag at the bottom of your email. I followed the link, and it took me to your team page where you raise money for the March of Dimes. Good deeds should be recognized. Thank you for all your hard work. You didn’t tell me what you wanted for Christmas, but I’d like to make you something anyway. I’ll come up with a few ideas and run them past you to get your approval.

~TSMK

You Bet Your Asp

2011-08-12T14:03:00.000-07:00

On this day, 2,041 years ago, Cleopatra VII died near Alexandria, Egypt.

And on this day, some 1,993 years later, Anthony Ray was born in Seattle, Washington.

At first blush, you might think these events are unrelated. But dig a bit deeper and I think you’ll agree that they are inextricably linked. For Cleopatra is popularly believed to have died after being bitten by an asp.

And Anthony Ray, better known by his stage name of Sir-Mix-a-Lot, is best known for his anthem to, well, something that sounds an awful lot like asp.

What does all of this mean? Nothing, really. Except that it means today is a particularly auspicious day. The kind of day that makes a person want to announce something.

So, I’m announcing that I’ve started my Christmas knitting. True, I may have mentioned this before. But one of our current presidential hopefuls has announced her candidacy at least three times now – so really I’m just being presidential. Not redundant. Really.

And, since I’m announcing that I’ve started my Christmas knitting – I’d like to announce that I want to add a couple of new names to my Christmas-gift-list. You heard me right. I already plan to make things for family and numerous friends – but I want also to make something for at least one complete (or nearly complete) stranger. So – this seems like an opportunity for a new giveaway. So – I hereby kick off the 2011 TSMK Christmas-Gift-Listapalooza.

Here’s the scoop: You want something – you ask for it. Maybe a scarf? Or how about some socks? Could be anything. Tell me what you’d like made, and why you think you should be added to my Christmas list. Make it (the item) memorable. If it is something intriguing – I’ll be more likely to want to make it.

And make the request memorable as well. In past events we’ve had fun with poetry, photos and even an adorable video of an infant. All of that is in play with this one as well. In fact, anything you can email can be used as a submission. However, please do not send me anything you wouldn’t want to see posted in this journal or of which you think The Echidna might disapprove.

All entries should be sent to tsmkblog@yahoo.com. If you need to send something through snail mail – shoot me an email and I’ll reply with an address.

I’ll accept entries through the autumnal equinox. Have fun, and I hope to hear from you.

~TSMK

Good Fortune

2011-08-06T06:53:00.000-07:00

Today, I have the good fortune to do something really exciting.

I get to perform the wedding ceremony for a friend. So, I guess I get to help knit two people together, as opposed to pieces of yarn.

Writing the ceremony, I confess I was tempted to say something along the lines of "let no man frog what we have today..." but I resisted the urge. Instead, we're going to talk about the rock, paper, scissors theory of marriage. Should be fun.

On the knitting front, I have begun my Christmas knitting. I recognize that it is a bit early, but I have a lot of things I want to make this year. Stay tuned for updates as things come off the needles in the weeks and months ahead.

~TSMK

Fear and Loathing in the Living Room

2011-08-03T08:43:00.000-07:00

I'm a little worried. I may have done something dreadful. The trouble is, I don't know for sure if I did. And, if I did, I'm not sure what it is. Let me explain.

This morning, Mrs. TSMK and I were having our morning 15 minutes of quasi-uninterrupted conversation on the couch. We do this every morning (or try to). We banish the children for just a few minutes so that the two of us can drink a cup of coffee or tea together, talk about what we need to do that day, and generally strategize on how to make it to the kids' bedtime. War planning, really. But with an affectionate bent.

And this morning, well into our discussion, I noticed that I wasn't hearing her. Her lips were moving. I'm sure they were saying something important. But I couldn't hear her.

This is not my fault. The fact is that her lips were speaking quite a bit more softly than her outfit - which was shouting every inch of her curves at me. If the yoga pants and clingy white top had been amplifier, they would have gone to 11. That's one more, isn't it?

So anyway, I have no idea what she was saying. I just know that I found myself nodding and saying "yes" without comprehension. And that's what has me worried. Just what did I agree to? What if it is something horrible - like going on a weekend trip to Forks to look for sparkly vampires? Or eating kale? Or, heaven forbid, eating Kale in Forks? This could get really ugly.

- Breathe TSMK; this too shall pass -

Ok. Now that I have my wits about me at least momentarily - let me share the most recently completed item. This is my version of Kim Hargreaves' Edda. Luckily, it does not appear to have been unnecessarily fouled by tartar. Shown here prior to blocking - I'm hoping the cables will be slightly more presentable once I give it a good soak and pinning out. I did mine in wool, as opposed to the cotton called for by the pattern. I like it, and Mrs. TSMK does too.

Wait a minute - you don't suppose she was asking me to make another one?

~TSMK

Thoughts for a Thursday

2011-07-28T08:33:00.000-07:00

After checking in with The Echidna this morning, I found I had a few random thoughts floating around. I'm not sure they're all mine (although some of them clearly are). So here they are in no particular order, a kind of lost & found of thoughts. If you think one of them is yours, please take it and go about your business.

Rap music never got better than Run-DMC. Match My Adidas or Mary, Mary against any other piece of the genre and the boys from Queens will prevail.

Why hasn't anyone made a combination bagel-doughnut? You'd get the crunchiness of the outside of the bagel, coupled with the chewiness of the inside and the sweetness of the doughnut. What's not to love? Chocolate frosted whole wheat bagel might just be the world's most perfect food.

I've had the hats on the wall for quite a while now. Should probably change it up and put something else on that particular canvas. Not sure what, exactly. Yarn? Skateboards? Paisley shirts?

Is there any mammal that doesn't have a nose of some sort?

I miss Douglas Adams.

Tonight is Mrs. TSMK's book club, and she's hosting it at our house. I must resist the urge to do or say something that might embarrass her. Although, to be fair, I rather like my overalls. They're comfy.

When you write out all the multiples of 9 from 1 to 10 in one big line you get a giant palindrome. How cool is that?

If I'd never seen and loved the original version of Top Gear, would I still dislike the U.S. version?

Swatching is overrated. If something doesn't fit, rip it out and change the size. Knit for the process, not the result.

I need to get more people to join my team for Pawswalk. Its going to be a great time and the lace-ripper will be there in all his furry glory.

~TSMK

Dresssed to the Eights

2011-07-24T22:07:00.000-07:00

I was sitting on the sun deck when I saw her. Honestly, it sounds more glamorous than it is - the sun deck is just a covered part of the ferry I take to and from work every day.

But anyway, there I was sitting on the sun deck when she came walking past. She was dressed, as they say, to the nines. Or perhaps at least to the eights. A smart suit in crimson. Stratospheric heels. Bobbed hair. She was, by all appearances, a very attractive young woman of approximately 25.

I was working on a sweater for Mrs. TSMK. Nothing too fancy - the Edda pattern in Kim Hargreaves' new Whisper collection. It calls for cotton, but with our climate I was going with wool.

The sun deck was quite full - and the only open seat was on my bench. I wondered. Would she sit down? Perhaps she'd want to chat about the sweater and I could enjoy an afternoon cruise across the sound talking with a beautiful young stranger.

She sat, and I kept working on the sweater.

After a few moments, she began searching for something in her bag. Finding it, she pulled out a small container of lotion. Leisurely, she began applying it. First to her hands, and then to her shapely legs. A floral scent filled the air. We weren't chatting, but I wasn't about to complain.

And then, things took something of an ugly turn. Those stunning heels came off. The lovely scent of lilacs was immediately impaled on the rusty spike of foot odor. And not just any foot odor - but the kind of odor you might expect if a teenage boy put his gym socks near your face. The kind of odor that makes you reevaluate your love of Stilton cheese. The kind of odor that people emigrate to avoid. Powerful stuff.

I kept working on the sweater.

At the halfway point in our voyage, she began again began rustling around in her bag. The lotion was but a memory. The heels were still off. She pulled out toenail clippers. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm making this up. And I wish I were.

Feverishly, I worked on the sweater.

After performing their assigned task, the toenail clippers went back in the bag. I breathed a sigh of relief. The odor was still present - but the personal grooming had stopped.

Or so I thought. She rustled around in her bag a third time. I was praying for a hairbrush. Or perhaps a tube of lipstick. But it was not to be.

She
pulled
out
a
roll
of
dental
floss.

Wow. Just wow.

I turned my body slightly to the right, to try to avoid the plaque-spatter that seemed inevitable from the frenzied flossing to my left.

I finished the row, gathered my things, and left the sun deck for the main cabin. I don't know what manner of personal grooming followed the flossing. I don't want to know.

~TSMK