All sorts of corny and clever titles for this one. Polygnomials? They're multiplying? Double your fun? That would be the most accurate. For the same amount of yarn that goes into one scarf, you can make two Alan Dart gnomes. Great gifts don't you think?
Have you ever played this game? We've gotten into it recently, usually involving a group of friends and a few glasses of wine. Even with my middle aged curtailed wine ingestion, the last time we played I mistakenly came up with two lies and a truth. I could have saved one of them for a future round, as it gets increasingly difficult playing with those who are familiar with your life, but heck, we're knitters - creativity should come a tad more easily for us folk.
No lies this time, this is a review of my week - two truths and I wish it were a lie.
Truth #1: The 18 yr old, whose high school graduation is in serious question, provided me with an evening of much needed levity. He surprised me with tickets to the advance showing of the Indiana Jones movie. A date with my son. He and I share a long history with Indy, including assembling of every Indy knockoff Lego, aka Johnny Thunder, the naming of a future dog 'Indiana Bones," a Halloween Costume and an Indy themed party complete with a mapped treasure hunt and digging for plastic snakes. We were so sentimental, he agreed to spend time with me and the old Lego this weekend.
Truth #2: I heart Alan Dart. Here's my paintbox of DK yarn to prove it. Just when I told Chuck my stash was so large I might be done with my yarn purchasing. No, that's not the wished for lie. For those who asked, the sheep from my previous post is one from the new Dart book 50 Irresistible Gifts to Knit, from a few posts back:
Now for the I wish it were a lie part: WARNING - may be offensive to some. How far does weird news travel? Here in BC we're often hearing stories such as criminals in outer Slombovia, posing as job applicants, leaving their resume at the scene of a bank robbery. So, it's your turn, have you heard about our BC weirdness?
Since last August, four human feet have washed up on the shores of local gulf islands. Each right foot was clad in a sock and a running shoe. None were traumatically severed from it's body of origin, they were "dearticulated." Not the way I wanted to learn a new vocabulary word.Theories abound - a murderer's calling card, the prank of soon to be expelled medical students, the remains of four people who disappeared in a 2004 plane crash. Too weird.
Sometimes I hear something that cracks me up, a literal LOL moment. One of my coworkers was going to spend her birthday weekend with her daughter, a 90-something aunt, and her cousin. Using the quote above, she described their Italian family tradition of occasional women only weekends. While the males were off doing manly things, the women would feast on chicken and a jug of wine hauled up from the cellar. I'll bet there was yarn involved.
Knitting SIL Ellen and I had some womanly bonding time during her visit. We didn't kill a chicken, but she knit a sheep:
Gracee will miss her, too, especially her comfy yarn:
In a while crocodile. Off to Florida with you. My thank you gift is on it's way. I figure if Betsy can't use it, there are plenty of her New York grandchildren who would appreciate it. Mr. Bry at age 18 has already requested one.
The recap: The scarf done according to pattern would not be a scarf at all in length. They supply an appropriate amount of yarn, but the pattern directions seem skimpy. When I bought it, it was only available as a kit. Now you can order the pattern alone. Knitters have complained that the kit yarn is too firm, bit the scales require that firmness for body. Besides, the colour is perfect.
Additions: Needle felted eyeballs, otherwise the scarf looks like a croc hide with eyeball sockets. I did slitty gator eyes on one side and pink eyeballs en reverse. Started with the pink ones on the main side but decided they look like white olives with pink pimento. Is this as weird as it sounds looks? It was one of the most enjoyable projects I have ever knit.
Mother's Day, that holiday that seldom lives up to Hallmark expectations, the one that has, in our family at least, occasionally invited coincidental catastrophe, was made a bit better by child induced treats:
How to describe this delectable delight: a french toasty, bread puddingy melange of sweet buttery nuttiness. A recipe from Uncle Greg, made by Sean and Elina for an early M-Day brunch. Here's the recipe he sent:
1 loaf Texas bread, thick sliced
3 cups milk
1/4 cup sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 tablespoons butter, cut into 5 pats
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
Grease 13x9" pan. Cut bread into 1" wide strips. (using French bread, its
easiest to slice it in half lengthwise first.) Put one layer into bottom of pan.
Beat eggs, milk, sugar, salt and vanilla in a large bowl.
Pour over bread. Cut each pat of butter into several pieces, enough so that each
bread slice has a piece on it. Sprinkle the top of the bread with cinnamon.
Cover with foil and refrigerate for up to 36 hours.
When ready to cook, place plan in COLD oven. Turn temperature
to 350ºF and bake for 45-50 minutes. When touched, it should spring back.
Allow to set for 5 minutes before serving. Serve with syrup
or fruit compotes.
This is close to the one I made. I sprinkled pecans on before baking,
and of course had apple compote warmed up for anyone wanting it. For
some reason, I think I put in one\ Tablespoon of vanilla into mine.
A son who works at Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, the benefits of which include this mixture of fresh bendy Twizzlers enrobed in milk chocolate, the end to the day which started with a giant pretzel first dipped in caramel and then in chocolate. And I thought I didn't have a sweet tooth.
The knitting treat, enjoyed due to a son-in law, who patiently chauffeured Ellen and I first to one knit shop, then another, then back to the first to fetch the accidentally left behind pattern in midday traffic:
I'm taking a couple of sick days - I'm speechless and my brain is fuzzy after getting called in for day surgery yesterday. Nothing serious, but it's left me with a souvenir strip of sore neck and shoulder stitches. Hasn't impeded the knitting, though. That's Clapotis #2 to the left. Not a bad picture considering the clap is the least photogenic project I've found.
No sympathy necessary - the timing was fortunate with coincidental visits from visiting knitting SIL, Ellen, and Elina and Sean.
Lost rings are nothing new in this house. I've thrown away my wedding rings a few times. It's usually after eating messy food and then they are recovered safely having been carefully wrapped up in a napkin. One time after eating steamers, we found them in the bottom of the garbage, nestled inside a clam shell.
I know of a person who made an insurance claim on her lost rings. Fifteen years later they were recovered in the bottom of a jar of Vaseline. And I think I've told this one before - honest to God, I know the person. Her grandmother's ring was found in the belly of a fish. The fisherman traced the owner through the engraving. She had lost it down the drain years before. And I know I've written about the diamond cocktail ring I found in the finger of a glove I was trying on at a store.
How about you, any good ring stories out there?
There IS knitting happening here and I'm going to show you a picture to prove it. Sort of. This is the mystery gift I'm working on, recognizable enough to you experienced knitters. Hint: it's a "MM" kit with a protuberous embellishment. Shhh, don't say anything, the intended recipient may be reading:
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