Ravelympics, Day 3

Day 3 progress

I haven't watched too much of the actual Olympics, I must admit. But I have been knitting a lot! I finished the cuff of the first sock on the first night, and the leg entirely by last night. Today I've done the heel flap, the turn, and the gussets--so I'm already on the foot of the first sock! At the rate this is going, I'll be finished WELL under deadline, but I know myself well enough to know that may not happen. My goal is a sock a week.

Ravelympics: Day 1

For those not in the know...the Knitting Olympics occur every two years (if you follow the Ravelry method) or every 4 (following the Yarn Harlot method), in conjuction with either the "regular" or winter Olympic games. To compete in the Ravelympics, you choose a project to cast on during opening ceremonies, and then attempt to complete that project during the 17 day Olympic games. (Extra points if you actually WATCH part of the games while knitting.)

I've chosen to compete this year by joining my team, "Team Reclaim It," in conjuction with my favorite Ravelry group, Reclaiming the Home, based on the blog of the same name. I'm competing in the Sock Hockey event, and I'm making these socks:



Pattern: Be Mine by Melissa Morgan-Oakes from the book "2-at-a-Time Socks" Yarn: Dream in Color Smooshy in Burgandy

The pattern is fun, with some cabling forming hearts all the way up the leg and instep. I won't be doing two at once because I haven't the needle for it, or if I do, I don't know where it is.

I'll post progress every couple of days here as well as in my notebook on Rav. Wish me luck!

DWB/MSF

I did what I could. If you can, do what you can too. All donations given today are going straight to the Emergency Fund for use in Haiti.

Thx.

Naming things

I've been thinking a lot about names lately. (No, I'm not pregnant, but given that I'm turning 30 in 3 weeks and hope to have one other child in my lifetime, things better improve soon-ish if it's going to happen.) Not only children's names, but what my child names her fuzzy-friended "children".

Tessa is into horses & webkinz, hardcore, but she "names" just about everything. You would think, being 8, she'd stick to the tradtional--Spot, Fluffy, Patches, etc. Nope, not my kid. The webkinz I can remember are: Kurt, Sean, Sammy, Cody, Draco, Challenger, & Charger. There's a couple more, but I can't remember what she's called them.

When I was a kid, I had a rocking horse named Rocky, a stuffed cat named Molly (after my own kitty), and equally traditional names for everything else. The most creative I got was naming my white stuffed monkey Sugar because he looked so sweet. My kid? She names things for characters she likes (Kurt is her favorite on Glee), she uses Latin (Draco is a dragon), and some of it--like Sean & Cody--I have NO idea how she comes up with.

I've tried to be more creative as I've gotten older. Our cats are alphabetical--Annie, Bryn & Clee, short for Cliodhna, from a book I liked. Tessa is a take on the Irish form of Theresa. In her middle name, Felicity means "happy" and the May is for my grandmother, Dorothy May. The girl name we've chosen for a future child, Kyra Isobel-Jane, is unique without being over-the-top. We're still discussing boy names--right now Aiden and Erik top the list.

What does the future hold for my creative Tessa? Who knows. She's already shown more imagination than I did at her age, though she seems to be much more firmly grounded in reality than I ever was. When she was 3 we tried to tell her that pink milk came from cows fed on strawberries, and she didn't buy that for a second. We have only the most tenacious hold on Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, and that only because she wants to "play along." She answersed the dentist's question of "what do you want to be when you grow up?" with the unconventional "foreign corresspondant." (I cannot begin to explain the look on the woman's face at that one.)

I'm thankful for my creative girl. She amazes me daily at her ability to think outside the box, and I pray she always has that quality.

Why didn't someone teach me this stuff sooner?

Anyone who's known me for longer than 10 seconds knows I knit. Few people realize this is a fairly "new" development for me. Sure, I learned the actions of knitting on a long trip with my Aunt Joyce when I was 7--having a 7-year-old has convinced me that she taught me in self-defense. And later, learned to purl from my mother--a lefty, which lead me to purl backwards for a number of years before being corrected.

But while I dabbled for years, occasionally producing a strip of wonky garter stitch--my daughter still wears my first high school effort at a "scarf"--I didn't truly "understand" knitting until the last 3 or 4 years. I picked up a little booklet in the Walmart one day called "10-20-30 minutes to knitting" to remind me of the steps, some cheap acrylic yarn & needles and off I went, knitting something...horrendous, I don't even remember what it was, but I was knitting.

Wrap, pull, drop; wrap, pull, drop; over and over and over until I had it down again. Then the purl--backwards, twisting each and every stitch, but it was purling of a sort. I tried a few little things, some worked, some didn't. My friend Katy set wool in my hands, gave me a hundred reasons why it was better, and taught me to felt. I ordered my first yarn online, followed my first patterns out of my first pattern books given to me by my mother-in-law, never looked back.

When I was 12, I tried to paint, with horrible results. As a young teen, I wrote, convinced I'd be the next bestselling author when I grew up. I tried singing, I even tried a brief-but-terrifying foray into dancing. I acted. But finally after all those attempts & failures--I found my medium. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but sticks and string excite me....

There's just something magical about this medium. Taking something simple & two dimensional like yarn, and turning it into useable, wearable, three-dimensional garments--magic. Manipulate the stitches this way, you get a cable; that way, you get lace. You can produce a plain, reliable sweater, a delicate, gauzy wrap or a dense, sturdy basket, all from the same motions of knit & purl, wrapping string around sticks over and over. Amazing.

I love metal needles. The clicking sound they make, the slickness of them--nickle plated, extra pointy ones are my favorite. With them I can churn out socks quickly, I can work on tricky stitches, and there's nothing like an extra pointy metal needle for working multiple stitches at once. Some prefer the warmth of wood or bamboo, and they have their place, but for me the ultimate tool is a good, sharp, slick metal needle.

I like wool best. Ever since Katy handed me that first skein & extolled its virtues, I've realized that she's right in every way. I abhor acrylic, preferring to spend a little extra on superwash wool for those afraid of the felt-factor. I like other natural fibers as well, but cannot work with some of them. For example, as much as I love & appreciate a cotton dishcloth, cotton itself makes my hands ache because of the lack of "give" & stretch. I like alpaca, but sometimes the fuzziness of it gets on my nerves--just like I like a sharp needle, I like clear stitch definition, and anything that obscures that tends to bug me. Wool is my friend.

I love color! Wool takes dye so well, and so it comes in so many shades & colors. I love handpainted yarn, because that started with a person and an idea. It's like a small, fuzzy canvas that the artist has expressed themselves on--and then I get to USE it to make my own art. Simply incredible. With yarn you can go for vibrant, amazing shades that you wouldn't normally wear, and put them on a small project, like a sock--and voila, a masterpiece.

I knit a lot of socks, for lots of reasons, but mostly because the projects are short & sweet as long as the recipient's feet aren't too big. (Thankfully my husband, size 12, doesn't care for overly warm feet.) After 27 complete pairs (and a multitude of single socks that never found their mates) I can pretty much turn out a sock in my sleep, even with a little pattern thrown in for interest. And with the huge variety of self-striping and space-dyed yarns available, even a plain sock can be a work of art.

I could go on forever, but everyone thinks I may have gone a bit far with this string thing already. But I will say this--if you're looking for a medium, and have been unsuccessful at everything else creative that you've tried, give knitting a shot. You might be surprised, once you really get into it, at what a good time you can have with just some sticks & string.

I am not a writer

I'm not a writer.
Sometimes I need that outlet
So I give it a stab...

Awkward poetry, stunted phrases
Stories with beginnings that have no middles or ends
Aborted attempts at smart-sounding language, cut short

Now and then I journal,
Finding solace in weaving phrases in and out.
But to call myself a writer? Hah.

Right now, I am a mother
I'm a wife, a provider, a co-worker
All these labels to give me that sense of self.

But I am not a writer, though I once wanted to be.
I'll just live with that--one of my hundreds of shortcomings
And try to cope with it.

Why I don't go to church (even though I was raised to do so)

Short version, anyway.

A friend said something yesterday about someone saying hurtful words. In commiseration, I answered her post with "hurtful words are the worst. It's the main reason I quit going to church altogether." Someone then responded to my response, saying she wasn't sure what church had to do with hurtful words, because "her" church spoke the "truth."

Well, I think she may have taken my comment the wrong way. I wasn't speaking of church in the preaching/teaching/edifying sense. What came from the pulpit was certainly appropriate for my belief system, and yes, that church does teach "truth" as I accept it to be.

I was actually referring to "church" in the greater, body of believers sense. Some of the most hurtful words said to me were uttered within the confines of a church building by members of a church congregation. My point was, things were said to me in the setting of "church" that in the greater world would never be spoken out loud, and it was because of "hurtful words" that I no longer attend. Basically, it's the first thing that came to mind when I heard the phrase.

In day to day life, you would never walk up to someone and ask them why they were underdressed (V. "Sunday" attire, not v. clothing). In my workplace, I've never been accused of "inappropriate touching" when I've given someone a hug. I've never been wealthy or popular, which made school hard, but even with those strikes against me I never felt alienated by every single one of my peers--yeah, I faced the everyday hurts from the "in" crowd, but never everyone, all at once.

It was because of hurts like those that I left the church I'd been raised in as a child & went to another, more rural congregation. That was fine for a few years, until someone there said something to me so outrageously hurtful that I literally ran away and never came back. I won't say who or what, that's not the point. The point is what was said was the sort of thing that makes me to this DAY wrack my brain to figure out why that person thought what they were saying was in any way, in any sort of situation, appropriate to say.

So, two strikes, you're out. After 19 years of hurtful words, I left. I don't regret it. If you ask my daughter about Jesus, she will tell you He is the Son of God & lives in her heart. She's as "Saved" as I am, and if she chooses to go to church later on, I will do everything I can to make that happen. But for me--I am serving the Lord in my life, but from my home.