"Don't make me go out there."
-- me, earlier this morning. So very, very cold. I give up.
Sadly, I do have to go out there soon but, before that, this week's Martini Friday at Another Mother Runner. This time, a math problem.
And, lo, let it be written that my Chimera Cardigan is done.
Buttons were acquired from Purl Soho. While I love Moving Mud, who was recommended, the cost for 11 buttons would be more than the cost of the yarn.*Although Purl is spendy, too, these buttons were perfect.
I also found a use for a souvenir ribbon from Prague. While others buy snow globes and beer steins, I always bring back sewing notions.**
I'm the only one in the house right now*** so you're going to have to endure some iffy selfies. Sorry.
Fits perfectly, yes? That Amy Herzog is a genius.
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* This is totally the direction I'll go if I need a couple of focal point closures, tho. Gorgeous.
** Not totally true. Usually, I bring back yarn, too.
*** Lucy is also here but a) not a human and b) only snaps shots of bacon.
(Because of a variety of circumstances, Lisa and I are taking a Figs break. But! For those who just started reading the blog, I'm going to reach deep into the wayback machine and toss up some old Figs for your enjoyment. Like, say, this one, which is about my rage.)
Don’t get me wrong. I like my gym. As gyms go, it’s a keeper. Treadmills. A pool. Heavy things to lift and put down again. Not too many ‘roided out knuckleheads lifting weights. Almost zero young women (and, let’s face it, older women) dolled up and spandexed. It’s mostly clean.
I go. I run to nowhere. I sweat. I leave. It’s all I could want it to be, really.
And, yet, every now and again, I get that irrational rage. It comes on like a sneeze, set off by, say, the elderly man who ramps the incline on the treadmill up as high as it can go, then clutches to the sides of the machine as if he’s walking into a hurricane. Or at the 30-something woman on the stationary bike who is reading Jodi Picoult and peddling with intense slowness. Or at the college student who spends 20 minutes adjusting a fan so that it blows on her at just the right angle and speed. Or at the moms in the locker rooms who take up the entire bench in order to get their singular kid into a swim suit.
I don’t know where it comes from, the rage. Maybe, after so many years of suppressing it, it is burning off with every tenth calorie expended.
Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.
* "I'm just so bored of being lied to by stupid people."
* Space is just so awesome. History is, too.
* I would like to go here please.
* The passive-aggressiveness of opinions.
* On upspeak.
* Making the hard to grasp easy to grasp.
* Great reporting, amusingly told. Harrowing, too, in its own way.
* Heh.
* Not heh -- and all too common.
* Want.
* For the theater people -- and anyone else who wants to learn how to work.
* I might make a thousand of these.
* Why we should eat the very rich first: exhibit A, exhibit B.
* I'll need to find a physicist, not soon, I hope.
* She was one of my favorite parts, too.
I've posted about my love for the Paper Source wall calendar before - and couldn't resist picking one up for 2014. (Hey, look! They're on sale!) My tendency is to let the pages pile up and spend an hour dealing with the backlog, which is what I did on Sunday. In addition to a bunch of notecards, I can restock my wrapping supplies:
It's nice when pretty things take almost no time to make.
The kids were up in the ROC for a bit last week. I think the Corg missed them.
For the first 12 hours they were home, she was within foot-sniffing distance of one of them. Maybe she just likes their stinky feet. Dogs, man. So gross.
"It’s okay to be strange, but you also have to be strong."
-- Robert Samuels who is blogging about figure skating for the Washington Post. It's a great column, no matter what your feelings on figure skating may be.
Also this week's another mother runner update, which is mildly profane.
It dawned on me that now that my Chimera Cardi is ABB,* I have space in my life for another project. And what should my wandering eyes spy but this --
Plucky Knitter 100 percent Cashmere Lace in Oatmeal, which was a door prize I won at the last Knitter's Review Retreat. I am a lucky girl indeed.
But I'm not sure what exactly to do with it. I'm thinking scarfy cowly thing, mostly because I have 400 yards and don't know that I could get much more out of it. I could be wrong. Lace weight always confuses me. I do think that I'd like to play with beads, though, and pulled some options out of the bead bag.
These were leftover from a cross-stitch project for the Tween, back before she was a Tween.**
Lucy wonders why there is all of these beads and yarn on the window seat as well as why I'm taking pictures of it rather than playing with her.***
I got these in Prague. Love them.
These, too. But my shopping companion that day thought they were less than gorgeous by several degrees of magnitude. And while I agree that I wouldn't want a whole outfit that color, I think they'd be lovely as an accent.
Lucy (and the spouse) still wants to know why I'm not rubbing her belly.
Finally, these, whose provenance I'm unsure of.
So which would you choose? And any thoughts on a pattern? Or why the corgi belly is so irresistible?
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* All But Buttons (which are on their way)
** I feel like I've blogged about this but can't find it. The finished project is on her wall, tho.
*** Ignore the carpet. Soon it will be replaced - but years of cats and kids have taken their toll.
(Because of a variety of circumstances, Lisa and I are taking a Figs break. But! For those who just started reading the blog, I'm going to reach deep into the wayback machine and toss up some old Figs for your enjoyment. Like, say, a repost in honor of my pedicure yesterday. The color I went with was "Ladies and Magenta-men." Truth.)
OPI’s New Nail Colors for Winter 2014, which has been unofficially dubbed “Winter of our Discontent” by the marketing department whose advance PR materials had to be filed just one day after learning that they were all about to be laid off (except for Harriet, of course, who is the boss’ niece and there only to maintain family harmony, despite the fact that she can barely speak English much less write a decent sentence and never even contributes to the coffee fund).
Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.
* And then I got pissed.
* In case you need a laugh.
* Miller time.
* Tech through the years.
* No cup of tea is worth it.
* While the writer tries just a leetle bit too hard to be David Foster Wallace, it's still a good story.
* On the Ebony Fashion Fair.
* snerk.
We - both my kids and the college - are on break this week. So needed it. I need to dig my desk out from under an avalanche of paper and watch as much curling as I can. Because I loooooove curling and wish a) it were on more and b) the closest curling ice was closer than an hour away. Ah, well.
Until tomorrow, then, have a corgi:
ETA: My hometown is taking advantage of the curling surge. Until Oneonta gets with the program, I plan to walk around the house yelling, "Hurry, HARD!" at every opportunity. You have been warned.