So, last night, I could no longer ignore the siren call of the sock books on my desk. If you know me, you know I have a thing for socks, both handmade and store-bought, and also shoes. Which is marginally weird, because I hate feet. They are icky. Just sayin’

So, to the books.

These two books together make an excellent sock knitting course. Clara Parkes goes in to all the things that make a great sock: the yarn (fiber, twist, plies, spins), the stitches, the fit. And she has some great patterns as well, by some very famous designers (Ann Budd, Cat Bordhi, and so on). I love the details on picking yarns, and what to look for in a blend. Of course, I pick yarn because I fall in love with the colorway, and that’s okay, because the information in this book also works in the other direction: you can figure out exactly what the yarn you have in your hand is capable of, even if it needs to be a shawl instead of socks.

The Workshop book is complementary to this. It goes into detail on the different parts of the sock: toes, heels, cuffs, gussets. It also has some neat patterns, but the beauty of it is that you can mix and match features to design your own socks.

Now, I mentioned I love socks. And after my rant the other day about FAT yarn, it should not come as any surprise that I have a substantial stash of sock yarn. Sub. Stan. Tial. But I absolutely refuse to let myself cast on another project at this point, because I am trying to force myself to finish Carrick. However, I am planning other projects, dreaming of other projects, and so forth. And when I start something new, it will most likely be socks. I have six or seven sock books now, and most of the patterns are untried. So here’s what I decided. Any two socks made of the same yarn will constitute a pair. This way, I get to try more patterns, I avoid “second sock syndrome”, and I get to use up complete balls of yarn, because making a third or fourth sock makes perfect sense. In fact, one of the reasons I like sock knitting so much is that I can do it without paying a great deal of attention. It’s pretty much a toe, a tube, a heel, and another tube. Unless I am doing fancy work. So my “pairs” of socks will most likely consist of one fancy sock and one one plain. I can work on both of them at the same time that way, depending on whether or not I am able to concentrate on a pattern. Perfect, right?

Now, here’s the slow progress part. I have continued to work on my office area and organize my craft books and supplies. At this point, all my scrapping stuff is accessible. And I am sitting here looking at it, afraid to touch it. What the heck? It could be the fact that I haven’t scrapped a thing since Batman was a baby. He’s, ah….10. Regardless, I need to jump in. Which I will do right after I eliminate my 48 excuses!

I should maybe put this on the Life List page, but the list of books is getting rather tedious there. Since I last updated it, I have read Becoming a Psychotherapist, Days in the Lives of Social Workers, The Girls Come Marching Home, Once a Warrior, Always a Warrior, The Three of Us and The Courage to Create. That’s 6 books for a total of 41 books since I started the Musing Mighty Life List, if I haven’t forgotten any, which I might have. If it’s all the same to you, we will skip the backed up reviews and just try to do better from now on, ummkay? Kay.

Speaking of reviews, I think I might have mentioned that I have a horrendously tall stack of TBRs. Actually, I now have 4 reasonably short (approximately 2 feet) stacks. That is a lot of books, right? One of my goals for this year is to eliminate that stack of books, either by reading them or deciding not to read them, and/or giving them away/selling them. But another of my goals for the year is to work on my crafty life, including getting my craft books organized and actually making stuff. Yesterday, I pulled all my knitting books together, except for the ones in those stacks, and this morning, I pulled those out. So, in order to accomplish three goals at once over the course of the month, you get some knitting book reviews. Yay!!!!!

Up first, we have Men’s Knits by Erika Knight. Apparently, I have had this book for about 3 years, since I have been SINGLE for almost that long. Yep, I’m a little behind. We’ll get over it. Of course, it helps that the boyfriend sweater is always in style, and this way I can have the sweater without the boyfriend, right? And also, except for the boobs, both men and women are fairly rectangular in the torso, and while women’s clothes are occasionally over-fussy, things for men tend to be functional. I like functional.

So which patterns do I like best? The “favorite sweatshirt” on page 68 looks fairly unisex. It’s reminiscent of the wonderful wallaby, but without a hood or pocket. I love the wallaby, along with most of America, so this may be a knittable option. I also really, really like the “collegiate cardigan” on page 80. It’s thick and lush and has some great textures. Unfortunately, it’s knit in bulky weight yarn, so I may or may not work it up for myself. I tend to think I am bulky enough with adding fat yarn to the mix. Same goes for the “funnel-neck sweater” on page 110. I like it, but not in fat yarn.

But here’s a little trick I know. It is totally possible, if you know your gauge in a preferred yarn, and a little basic math, to knit a pattern written for a different weight yarn without re-writing the pattern. Just figure out how many stitches it takes to go around the person you are knitting for in the yarn you want to use, and (provided you can find a close enough match), follow the pattern as written for that number of cast-on stitches. This is super simple to do when using a pattern written for men (for instance) in bulky weight yarn (for instance) and making something to fit a five foot nothing shrimp of a girl in a lighter weight yarn (for real). Most of the time, patterns don’t call for a given number of rows, but just “knit until the piece is x inches long.” Just keep knitting until you hit the desired dimension, which may be shorter than called for, so don’t forget to measure yourself!

So…as you can see (or not see), I have been a little busy and blogging has pretty much blipped right off my radar screen. I’m going to try climbing back into the saddle or falling back into the rut or some other cliches and see what happens. I had an awesome first semester: really enjoyed myself, learned a lot and made straight A’s. I started the summer semester yesterday, and so far, so good. I did absolutely nothing on my break except play Frontierville, hang out with my best bud and read. I read several things, but the one I want to talk about today is Journals of the Big Mouth Bass by Debbie Sue Bass Williamson.

This book was a short read for me, being intended for the youth market, but it was….fun is not the right word. It’s a good book, and I will end up reading it to my kids, I am sure, but…if you, like me, are in your forties and vaguely remember being ten-ish with no great desire to re-capture those days, then you may understand what I mean by “fun” not being quite the right word.

Here’s the premise: Debbie gets a journal for her birthday. She uses it to write letters to God, with whom she has a pretty casual relationship. Not casual as in don’t care, but casual as in intimate enough to really talk to Him about what is going on in her life. She talks about her family and her brother and school and the lady down the street and whatever happens in her life. She expects that He listens and cares, and that alone makes the book worth reading. I was reminded of the need for a child-like faith as I read. There are no big theological discussions in the book, but that underlying message of faith s there all through it.

And, no it’s not all child’s play, either. I don’t know what your ten year old life was like, but some pretty stressful things happen to this girl. Not the kinds of horror stories that end up on the news, but some coming to terms with life. She has to learn some lessons the hard way. The author deals with this very realistically and draws a very believable character for us.

Lord help me! I sound like I am writing an essay here! It’s a good book. Get it, read it. If you don’t have kids, buy it for your niece or nephew. Make one up if you have to, because I think you will enjoy the story, and it’s a nice break from “grown-up” books and particle physics.

I don’t think I have ever mentioned that Sara Teasdale is probably my favorite poet ever. Back in high school, I read her collected works, and there was this one poem I memorized. I didn’t own the book, so I had no copy of the poem. I wanted it though, and I searched for it again in every anthology I ever picked up. And, honeys, I picked up many of them over the intervening 25 years, hoping to find this one short poem, to make sure I had it right in my head. I also looked for it on the internet. Today, I literally stumbled across it. I was looking all this time for the wrong title. It’s not called The Kiss, like I thought. It is called The Look.

The Look

by Sara Teasdale

Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin’s eyes
Haunts me night and day.

And when I found it, I cried, partly from the joy of finally finding it, and partly because it still echoes my heart. And partly because I had been talking to Colin just this morning. So very powerful, poems, little darts bound up in innocent looking books.

You know, I just deleted a whole lot of writing here. You don’t need to know everything. Some secrets I’ll just keep to myself awhile yet.

So, my cousin and I, we share a love of the written word. Not too long ago, she read a book called The Thirteenth Tale. She told me it was really good, and that she would bring it to me, but only if I didn’t stick it on “the pile” somewhere. I agreed, and made it a point to finish my current read promptly, so I’d be ready for this one when I saw her.

The book is written by Diane Setterfield, and my cousin was right: I enjoyed it thoroughly! To say this book is a story within a story is like saying an onion has layers. It is a marvelously complex piece of work, and the slide on it begins about halfway through. We’ve talked about the slide before, haven’t we? That point in a book where you can hardly bear to put it down, not even for such mundane things as eating and going to the bathroom?

I have a love/hate relationship with writing book reviews, you know. I never know how much to say. I don’t want to know about the plot of a book before I pick it up. A simple and direct “read it” from a trusted source is a much more effective draw for me that all sorts of details and character analysis. So, uh, “read it”.

It’s way more interesting than shopping for xerox phaser 8560 supplies. Or your dinner. Just go get something you can put in the microwave, or maybe even some trail mix, and pick the book up.

Nah, that’s not how I look at myself. It’s the title of a book I bought myself on my last big book blowout. I think I probably mentioned the book when I finished reading it, but there was one passage in the introduction that really struck home with me, kinda like a mental “cleanse colon” code for me. Since I am seeing my cousin this weekend, and she has asked to borrow the book, I guess it’s time to share that with you.

Here’s what Ayelet Waldman had to say:

I believe that mothers should tell the truth, even-no, especially-when the truth is difficult. It’s always easier, and in the short term can even feel right, to pretend everything is okay, and to encourage your children to do the same. But concealment leads to shame, and of all hurts shame is the most painful. Only if you name a problem, confront it head-on, drag it into the light, does it become surmountable. I always tell my kids that as soon as you have a secret, something about you that you are ashamed to have others find out, you have given other people the power to hurt you by exposing you.

I read that little tidbit not long after the massive blowout that happened in my extended family. The truth is, life isn’t always pretty, and here was a major author who acknowledged that and said to tell the truth anyway. It was a pivotal moment for me. And I hope I let that principle guide me for the rest of my life. Even when I choke on the words. Because sometimes I still do, but at least I am no longer ashamed of stuff that wasn’t my fault.

Ok, that’s it. maybe next time we’ll discuss hypomania. And maybe we won’t. You’ll find out right after I do.

Ok, here we go, assuming I can find all the pictures. Of course, with a month of photos to post, perhaps a lost one or two wouldn’t be a disaster. Not like running out of diet pills with ephedra, yk?

Speaking of technology that doesn’t work, this post has come to a screeching halt while I wait for the blackberry to reset itself after working on DriveCarefully. Well, if deleting with intent to re-install counts as “working on it”. Tap, tap, tap. Guess I’ll make a grilled cheese or something.

Sandwich cooked and eaten and now the blog is down. What the heck???
And now my computer doesn’t see the pics in my phone?
And now, there they are. Apparently you have to wait for the blackberry to go into mass storage mode. I forget that every time. Sigh.

March 28 This book is called Call Me By Your Name, and I finished it on the 28th. I’d been looking for something to read and Micheal had just brought this home, and said it was a good book, so I decided to give it a try. It is a good book. The first half of the book details a young person’s infatuation with a man named Oliver. They do the dance of liking but not admitting to liking one another, and the accompanying agonies of over-analyzing every conversation and action, looking for clues to Oliver’s state of mind. It isn’t until a third of the way through the book that the narrator, the younger person, is named Elio, and he is a boy.

I’m telling you, as a firm hetero-sexual, every word describing the initial infatuation and eventual love rang so true that I re-read the section revealing Elio’s identity three times, sure I had misunderstood. Nope, two guys. The book is tastefully done, and I enjoyed it. Right up until I cried at the ending.

March 29 I’ve developed a new habit. I send That One a picture of a flower almost every day that he is out on the road. It started with just one, but he enjoyed it, so I kept it up. I think we’ll manage to figure out exactly how busy and depressed I’ve been this past month as we see how many days there were where I only managed to snap a flower.

March 30 My oldest son, playing baseball. He really enjoys the game and says he’d rather do “fall ball” instead of football this year. We’ll see.

March 31 Another flower. Can you see where we’re headed here?

So, the kids play ball now. And that means practices. And that means extra reading time. This is how I spent the freezing evening of the 16th: in my car, prepping a Schwan’s order and reading girlie magazines. Fun times!