The oddest thing happened during my attempt to win a gold medal in the Knitting Olympics. As you know, the plan was (as always, “the plan was”—never a good sign) for me to focus 100% of my knitting attention on Olympic Squirrel and use this multi-colored-baby-sweater pattern as my easy-peasy “Ye gods! Have we moved even an inch?” commuter knitting. So how is it that Olympic Squirrel looks like this (plus a few more rows since this picture was taken)...
...and the multi-colored sweater looks like this, despite the fact that my commutes were no better or worse than normal?
Even the buttons have been sewn on—and we all know that's positively unAmerican. It’s almost as if I had made it half-way down the 125-meter ski jump, had reached maximum velocity, and then took a sharp right and tootled on down the bunny slope instead. So, what can I be awarded for this? A pink, yellow and green plastic medal? Something fake and tacky, maybe with Hello Kitty on it?
I do have to say, however, that I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun knitting something as I did the multi-colored sweater. Every time that small, nagging feeling of boredom started to tickle my brain, it was time to change colors and—poof!—the boredom disappeared. And it didn’t hurt that I knit this in my new favoritest-ever yarn, Cascade Quatro. (Upon closer inspection of the Quatro, I’ve figured out why there’s so much kicky depth and variety in its color: Each of the 4 plies is a slightly different color, for example, dark pink, medium pink, light pink, and cream. Even the yellow is three different shades of yellow plus the cream. Finger-lickin’ good!) As always, this sweater is off to Mongolia.
On the spinning front, thanks to neighbor Melinda and her swift and winder, TMK was able to wind her skein of Higgledy-Piggledy into quite a respectable-looking ball, here being guarded by our ever-faithful watch-camel Mongol LEE:
Then, as swiftly (pardon the pun) as the yarn was wound into a ball, the center strand was pulled out again and I cast on for The Great Swatching Experiment. (Hey, I just noticed how funny the interaction is between the hands on the cover of the book behind the swatch and the swatch itself.)
Thank you everyone for your suggestion about what to do with the Higgledy-Piggledy, my favorite being, of course, Jayme's suggestion that we use it for sock cuffs and then use manufactured sock yarn for the feet. However, this yarn is now well on its way to being one, or maybe two, hats for Dulaan. At first, TMK wasn’t sure she could bear to send her “first-born” to Mongolia, but has since acceded fully and wholeheartedly—especially now that she, fickle woman that she is, has a new fiber-love in her life, but more about that on Wednesday.
In the meantime, remember this bear that was given to me at the hospital? She has now officially been baptized "Ivy." Can anyone guess why?
So that I cannot be accused of encouraging my readers to make a pie that contains “hiney” or asking them to “refrigetate” their food, here is the original, typo-free recipe for Moo-Less Chocolate Pie from Alton Brown’s site. Scroll down to the bottom to find the directions, ‘cuz those three steps? That’s all there is to making the pie. So, go, melt, pour, refrigetate, eat, and enjoy, my lovelies!
Drum roll, loud bugle fanfare, and a big, undulating stadium wave! It is my pleasure to present The Mysterious K’s
first second skein of yarn!
On the winder:
Post-washing and in the Magic Drying Closet where it seems to have gone a mite higgledy-piggedly:
The Magic Drying Closet is a regular clothes closet which also happens to house TMK's hot-water heater so the inside of the closet is always a Sahara-like dry and warm, perfect for drying skeins of yarn—and t-shirts and underclothing that get soaked when you wash the dog, specifically when you stand her up on her hind legs and squash her dripping wet, furry body firmly to you so TMK can wash her stomach. (How do I fit so much inconsequential information into one sentence? Eh. It’s a gift.)
The good news is that the higgledy-piggledy comes primarily from the thick and thin of the green which was Attempt at Spinning #2. By Attempt at Spinning #3, the navy blue, her
string singles had become much more uniform. (And TMK further reports that she has been experimenting with the white-and-aqua Blue Faced Leicester that Anj sent her, the big skein in this photo, and is able to spin it quite thinly! As Rachael would say, "Woot!")
The navy-blue-and-sage skein measures approximately 190 yards. What can we do with that amount of yarn, Dear Readers? We’re thinking of stretching this yardage with some matching, manufactured navy blue yarn, and seeing if we (note the “we”) can turn this into a pair of socks. We may have to go the cop-out striped route to stretch the yarn far enough but I sense that TMK is not happy with this option, or so I interpret the pouty lower lip I got when I made this suggestion.
In the meantime, we’re having a good snort over some of the other fiber Anj sent us which was mysteriously labeled “CVM.” Through some judicious research, we have discovered that that stands for California Variegated Mutant. “Mutant?” I mean who really officially and formally names their breeding experiments “mutants?” Where does it stop? Corgi Mutant? Maine Coon Mutant? Thoroughbred Mutant? I mean, we all know it's true; it's just something you don't say out loud in polite society. To top it off, since TMK comes from California, she has decided that she is a CVM. I’ll believe it when she starts to grow some luxurious multi-colored fleece. And if this does happen, I’ll be selling tickets at the door for a lookee-loo. And I’ll sell her first shearing to the highest bidder.
As part of the frenzy that is the Knitting Olympics, I declare today the "2006 First Official Annual International Mark-Up-Your-Chart Day!"
Like many of you, I’m sure, I was brought up to believe that writing in or marking up a book was grounds for slow torture or, at the very least, immediate disinheritance. From my earliest “Dick and Jane” days, I was taught books are holy and inviolable; they were to be revered and should remain pristine, pure, unmarked, unsullied. And dog-ear a page? Fuggedaboudit. Unfortunately for my adult self, I took this Puritanical, color-inside-the-lines way of thinking much too much to heart…which means I feel faint at the thought of marking up pretty much any piece of paper…which means even marking up copies of knitting charts is unimaginably torturous and traumatic for me. The faintest smudge, and I imagine a large man in a black robe wielding a double-headed axe taking a swing at me. (Gee, thanks for this particular neurosis, Mom.)
I remember the first time I saw someone at Ferals with a riotously marked-up copy of a Fair Isle chart and thinking to myself, that’s either unforgivably blasphemous or—Wait. Could it be?!—a brilliant time-saver. (And then my immediate next thought was, of course, Duck! Big man! Black robe! Double-headed axe!) But the damage was done; the idea had gotten under my skin, like some lethal, unstoppable, burrowing Amazonian brain-parasite, and, over time, I’ve slowly succumbed to this new way of thinking and have started to make tentative scribbles on my copies of my Aran and Fair Isle charts. And now, after a year or two of the parasitic burrowing, I’m the knitting equivalent of a reformed smoker, a quasi-militant chart-marker-upper, hence, the “2006 First Official International Annual Mark-Up-Your-Chart Day.”
In celebration of this day, I say, get out your screamingly bright highlighters, red pens, purple pens, neon-pink pens, glitter pens, calligraphic pens, Sharpies, ink stamps, and decals, and mark the crap out of your chart copies! Mark the beginning of the row, mark the end, mark the middle, list your yarn colors in one margin, write your gauge calculations in the other, mark difficult rows with asterisks, mark easy rows with smiley faces, highlight rows you’ve finished, cross out the parts that are for pattern sizes larger than the one you're knitting, draw arrows, circles, boxes, squiggles, hearts, stars, moons, suns! And, in a final act of defiance, staple a sample of your yarn to one corner. I say, ignore the man with the double-headed axe! Oh, I feel so naughty! Who’s with me?!
On a quieter, less revolutionary note, this past weekend turned out to be a particularly fibery one for The Mysterious K and me. Yes, both TMK and me.
First, we spent a good portion of Sunday with Elaine and her partner, noshing on mini-quiches, barbecued meatballs, gruyere, salami, olives and the ever-present tofu pie, which how could we not make one since, pre-get-together, we received from them this picture of the woebegone half-brother to Angry Pie, Lonely Pie:
It’s always a great gift in life when you meet people with whom quiet moments just feel comfortable and natural. At one point, Elaine and I were knitting sedately away on our Olympic projects, and Leslie and TMK were happily racing each other in a video game and, if I may be so bold as to speak for everyone there, it seemed as if we all felt content just being together. There was no need for small talk or forced conversation; it was enough to just have each other’s company on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I don’t think I could have asked for more. Frankie—who, at one point was reduced to walking endlessly back and forth between Elaine and Leslie’s laps because she couldn’t decide which one of them she loved more—agrees.
Monday night we had a Ferals gathering and Andrea, one of the Feralites, sent out an email saying that some of the spinners of the group would be getting together early to spin and did anyone else want to join in? Thanks to the holiday, we had an amazing turn out—among them Ms. TMK. Yep, TMK finished spinning the last of her navy blue roving late Monday afternoon and then started making noises about, “Could we pleeeeze go to Ferals early so I can show Andrea my 'string?' Pleeeeeze? Could we? Huh? Could we?”
So, off we trotted and soon found ourselves part of a large group of women, spinning wheels, fiber, and knitting. And this is where things started to get weird.
Since small talk and socializing have historically not been TMK’s cuppa tea, it has always been my habit, when we are at parties or gatherings, to touch base with her, even if just through eye contact, to make sure she isn’t getting overwhelmed by all the badinage. This means that there is always a faint but definite “live wire” between us; the one of us always knows where the other one is and how she's holding up.
About half-an-hour into Monday night’s fiber gathering, I noticed something odd. There was no “live wire,” no hum, no “invisible connection,” no pull between me and her. How could this be?! I looked around for TMK and discovered, to my horror, that she was—there’s no good way to say this, so I’ll just get it out—perfectly happy. Mon Dieu! And sacre bleu! She had quickly been absorbed into the spinning group and was, in fact, quite contentedly chatting away while fondling different fibers (cashmere, silk, alpaca—yummers!), looking at the different types of spinning wheels and, at one point, using Andrea’s wheel to practice plying. In short, she didn’t need the faintest bit of rescuing. Huh.
As I struggle to come to terms with the New and Improved TMK, I suppose this is as good a time as any to respond to Melinda’s request for an update on TMK’s success with the Louet wheel that Melinda lent her, so here is a picture of the sage and blue roving spun up:
And here, a picture of TMK’s first 2-ply yarn!
By Monday we hope to have plied, washed and dried yarn for me to swatch!! We are very excited!
P.S. Be sure to visit Cuzzin Tom's blog to wish him a happy one-year blogiversary!!! Now, if we could just get him to start knitting...
(Saturday Update: Due to the holiday, no posting on Monday, Dear Readers.)
I have to tell ya’, this story my sister told me yesterday just killed me: She got a new lamp recently, unpacked it, set it on a table, plugged it in, and looked, ‘natch, for the on/off switch. That’s normal, right? I mean, sometimes the switch is on the bottom of the base, sometimes at the top, sometimes on the electric cord, sometimes it’s even a pull chain. But after a few minutes of hunting around, she came to the firm conclusion that her particular lamp was defective and had to be returned to the store posthaste because (a) it had no switch and (b) every time she touched it, it turned itself on or off.
After letting out, I’m sure, a big long-suffering sigh, her husband set her straight.
In her defense, even as she told me the story, Big Sister knew how this would make her look. She did not know, however, that I would splash it all over the blog. Sorry, Big Sister, but it was day-um funny.
Okay, to wrap up "Ryan’s Experiments With Morphine," most likely I have a date with Mr. Surgeon and Mr. Scalpel in April, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, life is looking good, I’m feeling great, and Olympic Knitting continues!
Below, a photo which proves that (a) I was watching the Olympics (or at least had my eyes turned in the general direction of the TV; I coulda been watching the test pattern for all you know); (b) I was working on Olympic Squirrel; and (c) I do, indeed, know how to knit with both hands at once, which still gobsmacks me. For two or three years, knitting with both hands, doing Continental and English simultaneously, was my forever-unattainable Holy Grail. But now, pffffft; piece a’ kek. Snap, snap, snap of the fingers. Who knew?!
Note: Using something to underline the pattern as you go—in this case, the sticky part of two wider-than-normal, neon-green Post-Its which I cut off and stuck to the pattern, and which I move up one line at a time as I complete a row—makes all the difference. What I would really like is to find a solution that allows you to see the current row and the one just below it at the same time, without losing your place. Any ideas, Dear Readers?
(And once, just once, I wish my friend Mr. Double Chin wouldn’t appear in every photograph taken of me. I’m starting to think this is what I really look like.....
That being said, a Norwegian-style stranded sweater in 16 days, even a 3-month size? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, heee, heee, heee, heee, heee, ho, ho, ho, har, har, har!!!!! What was I thinking?! Or better yet, what was I on? Oh, that's right—morphine. But ne’mind. I’m having a lot of fun knitting the sweater and watching the design grow under my fingers.
For those of you who require large amounts of beer to see
pink elephants squirrels, in this new version, they are now gray, and there are two of them, at the bottom, above the blue, one facing left, one facing right. See ‘em? And at the top of the sweater, in the middle, is a tree, and to the left and right are the halves of two snowflakes, all also in gray. (And the funky blue metal thing on the right—a heavy flashlight, my solution for how to hold down ultra-curly knitting when one hand is already holding down the left side of the knitting, your other hand is holding the camera, and your photography assistant has declared that she's exhausted and has gone to bed).
I am now thinking that I should have switched the colors of this pattern but, you know what? It ain’t gonna happen. Besides, squirrels are gray, damn it. In fact, the gray I’m using is a wonderfully mottled, tweedy color that just screams, “Squirrel!!!”
On the Dulaan front:
Thank you to the various and sundry who sent me this link to our (albeit nominal) mention in Time magazine. How cool is that?
Also, Meredith at F.I.R.E. tells me that the tax letters will be going out this week. Sigh. Sooner would have been much better. As always, if you have any questions about this, please contact them directly at email@example.com or (928)779-1966. In the meantime, knit on, Dulaaners!! "Our" kids are counting on us!
Just when people start to worry that I’m posting late because something has gone horribly wrong with me, I post late because…I post late. My bad. And to top things off, I won’t be posting on Wednesday. My badder.
I do have to say I wish I had arms long enough to wrap around everyone who left well-wishes in the comments and who emailed me. I am an indescribably lucky blog mistress.
The two things that made the big difference during my hospital stay:
1. TMK, who was finally able to bribe a nurse into giving me some ice chips after two days—two—of my having no food and no water. Somehow I was never quite as convinced as the doctors and nurses were that the hummingbird food dripping into my veins was a substitute for a turkey havarti sandwich with lettuce, mayo and tomato on thick white slices of artisan bread with a fruit-salad garnish.
2. This little guy.
When a nurse put a blanket on me and asked if there was anything else I needed, I jokingly said, “Now that I have a warm blanket, all I need is a stuffed animal,” and—poof!—thirty seconds later, guess what I had in my arms? Now, I may be 46 years old, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I clung to this little furball for the next 30 hours. Sometimes it’s the small things.
Oy. Enough about this unpleasantness. I try very hard to walk that fine line between sharing small, personal, hopefully somewhat-human-interest vignettes and TMI. We’ve dipped our toes in TMI; time to get back to those lame personal vignettes.
I know! Let’s talk about Olympic Knitting!
Despite all the hoopla, I am still very much participating in the Olympic Knitting event. I've learned so far that, especially in the case of stranded knitting, swatches are about much more than just gauge. For example, here is Attempt 1 at the Squirrel Sweater:
This is where I learned that reducing the palette of colors from the original five called for by the pattern to just two because you’re a lazy-ass knitter can cause unexpected problems. I discovered that, at the very least, the hem of the sweater needed to be done in a third, contrasting color so that the aquirrel/snowflake/pine tree design doesn’t just start abruptly, mid-squirrel, as it were, with no rhyme or reason. If I had swatched a bit of the hem plus some of the pattern I would have learned this well before I cast on 188 seemingly endless stitches for the actual project.
So Attempt 1 was frogged (despite the loud ticking of the Olympic clock in my head) and I cast on another 188 seemingly endless stitches and started Attempt 2 with the newly added Color #3, navy blue, for the hem.
(I think this qualifies as the dullest picture I have ever posted on the blog. If you feel the same, raise your hand. My feelings will not be hurt.)
Attempt 2 is going much better. The gray, red and navy blue are a great combination and the squirrels do not look quite so much as if at any minute they will start dropping vital internal organs everywhere. So far, however, the Olympic judges have given me a score of only 4.2. Except for the one who gave me a 10, but that’s because I bribed her with Koigu. Works every time.
Hi, it's Ryan, writing to you from the Knitting Olympics Disabled List.
With 28 hours to go before the WorldWide Olympic Cast-On, imagine my surprise at finding myself in the hospital for two days, on the business end of a morphine drip.
Now, this blog has never been and never will about The Gory Details, so if you are interested in that sort of thing, feel free to email me off-blog. (Big Sister, I'll email you regardless, 'kay?)
Suffice it to say, I've learned four important things: I don't react at all well to intravenous pain medication; barium "milkshakes" (which you drink before you have a CT scan) are the invention of the Devil, even when they are coyly labeled "Berry Smoothie" (I kid you not); nurses rock; and TMK may go to pieces during a power outage but, when push comes to shove, she's the best partner ever.
To sum, I'm home for now; I won't make it to Tacoma for the weekend which is a mega-bummer; there isn't a single Olympic stitch on my needles, also a mega-bummer; and TMK and I are both considering defecting to the Canadian Knitting Team since the Canadian broadcast of Olympic events is so much better than the American. I mean, fer Cripe's sake, on the American Olympics channel, they're currently showing cartoons! I am prepared to eat, live, and breathe the Olympics for the next two weeks--and they're showing cartoons.
(Lots of photos today, Dear Readers. May be slow to load.)
Remember this, our lovely, secluded, cool, and breezy Safari Room where we snoozed away the dog days of summer and which was the scene of much silliness and merriment at last summer’s Dulaan Garden Party?
Thanks to a cantankerous storm that blew through last weekend, it now looks like this:
We weep. We wail. We mourn. We rend our garments. We do a slow, tragic dance with veils.
The storm also led directly to an interesting clash between the-person-TMK-is-as-a-result-of-her-upbringing and the-person-Ryan-is-as-a-result-of-her-upbringing. Fortunately for me, because this is my blog, I get to explain my side of the story first and TMK will just have to scramble to get a word in edgewise. I'm likin' how this works.
Ryan’s View of the World
When you live in the exotic climes of South America and Asia, you’re lucky to have electricity. Losing power, commonplace. Losing power for days at a time, commonplace. Living by candlelight, flashlight or Coleman lantern, commonplace. Not being able to bathe for a few days, or having to settle for a wiping off of the limbs with a damp washcloth, commonplace. Being reduced to eating cold food with your fingers, commonplace. Wearing a sarong to stay cool when there’s no air conditioning, commonplace. Having to learn to just make do, commonplace. Losing power—life as usual; par for the course; no big.
TMK’s View of the World
Electricity never, ever goes away. It never has, never will. I worship at the altar of the ever-enduring, all-permanent God of Electricity. If it does ever go away, I will die. Immediately.
Guess which one of us was in for a rude shock last weekend when the same storm that left the Safari Room looking like a dead metal spider left her without power for thirty hours? (Oh, sorry, 29. She counted. Pretty much on the hour, every hour.)
Now, here’s the kicker—all we did was transfer operations to my house where we had plenty of electricity. We had heat, light, food, hot and cold water, and TV for the duration. TMK was never truly physically inconvenienced by the loss of power but, apparently, psychologically she had her knickers in a knot because at Hour 29 she Had Had Enough, and had a little meltdown.
Did I soothe her? Did I reassure her? Did I pat her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay? Did I bring her a Kleenex? Did I bring her some hot tea? Did I tell her to lie down until she felt better? Did I put a cold compress on her forehead?
I called her a big baby.
She stared, astonished, at my rude, unsympathetic self…and called me a meanie.
I called her a big baby again.
She called me a meanie again.
By that time, we were laughing too hard to be mad.
And three minutes later, her power came back on* and the crisis was over.
*How did we know the power came back on if we were at my house? Because she called her house and her fax machine answered which it couldna’ unless the power were on.)
Birthday, Day One, Saturday
The Original Plan: A trip an hour north to one of our local outlet malls. What Really Happened: See “Big Baby and Meanie Survive a Power Outage,” above.
Birthday, Day Two, Sunday
High tea at Village Yarns & Teas. I had such a great time doing this last year, I asked TMK if we could do it again. Village Yarns did not disappoint. Rich, flavorful tea, an endless and fun variety of finger foods, lovely presentation, attentive service. It was perfect.
Birthday, Day Three, Monday
Official Birthday Dinner at Outback, Official Birthday Gifts and Official Birthday Kek (as we call it, thanks to Martin Short in “Father of the Bride.”)
To make things interesting, for the last couple of weeks, TMK had been hinting that I had some “mystery gifts” from a “mystery giver” in and among my other presents.
Here, the moment when I found out the mystery giver was Anj!
Here, the surprise in the package on my lap, hand-dyed, hand-spun, hand-knit “typing toasties” (which fit perfectly, by the way, Anj)!
Here, my foot-tall assistant helps me investigate Mystery Gift #2:
The contents of Mystery Gift #2: Two alpaca mugs—one for me, one for TMK—and the fun green, pink and brown yarn on the right (yes, those are the typing toasties on the left; they hadn’t had enough of the limelight).
The further contents of Mystery Gift #2: Lots of fun roving for TMK to experiment with:
Thank you so much for the surprise, Anj, you little schemer, you!
Here, a beautiful gift from my sister, a “chrysanthemum rock” from the Yangtze Valley which will soon be permanently flooded, which just kills me. Thank you, Big Sister!! All the gifts were wonderful.
And lastly, the piece de resistance: I now own an original TMK!
How beautiful is this thing?! And that pendulum--absolutely mesmerizing. And because I can’t help myself--it already has a name, which I think Superman fans will appreciate: Clock Kent.
Madrona Fiber Arts
TMK and I will be down in Tacoma at the Madrona Fiber Arts thingy on Saturday and Sunday. We'll just be hangin' out because I wasn't able to sign up for any classes. If you happen to see two short, round women walking a short, round, red dog through the lobby, please come say "Hi!"
MaryB, we hope to see you there, although it sounds as if you've got a full schedule!!!
(No posting Monday, Dear Readers. I’m taking the day off to age one more year.)
It has been nagging at me that, unlike some of the more golden-hearted knitters out there, I haven’t committed my Knitting Olympics time to churning out items for Dulaan. In my defense, my “Year-Long, Big-Ass Dulaan Vision” was to make one item a month for Dulaan until the due date, a total of ten, maybe eleven items. Quick count…one, two, three, four…as of today, I’m already up to, like, item 15, with, like, five months to go. Like.
And, as of last weekend, I can add this to the pile:
Also in my defense, if I finish the sweater, I do plan to send it to F.I.R.E. so some Mongolian child can wear it for the nano-second that he is the 3-month size. And so I can set all of Mongolia abuzz with that age-old question, “Where the hell are the squirrels?”
And yet still more in my defense, I have found a compromise I can live with. Since it would be knitting suicide to work on Fair Isle in the car, my car knitting for those 16 days will be one of these knit out of my new favorite yarn, the new Cascade Quatro colorways that appear at the top of this page.
Oh, dearest knitters, the photo doesn’t do the new yarns justice. Not one whit. They are bright and fun and cheerful and summery and when I saw them I Had to Have Them All. I wanted to shove my arms into the cubby hole as far as they would go, haul every skein out, and squeeze them all to me in a big colorful bundle. And never let go. Not while I was in the store. Not while I was paying for them. Not while we were driving home in the car. Not while we were going into the house. Not while we were watching TV that afternoon. Not while we were eating dinner. Not when I went to bed.
Fortunately for my dwindling shekel supply, TMK was with me (this was the infamous “Roving Day” at Village Yarns) and gave me the hairy eyeball. (Which I gave right back to her because she had, after all, just cluelessly requested a pound of roving.) So I went home with “just” the pink, yellow, purple and green. Close enough.
This is not officially an Olympics project, I’m not saying I’ll finish it before the flame goes out, but at least I’ll be able to look at myself in the mirror.
While still on the subject of Dulaan, I am indescribably pleased to announce to knitters in the Flagstaff, Arizona area that on Wednesday, March 29th, from 3-5pm, the Flagstaff yarn shop Unravel will be holding an event called “Knit to Warm Mongolia and Pakistan.” Charmagne Coe and her husband, the owners, will be generously donating, that evening only, Harrisville Highland wool yarn to be used by those who participate in the event.
The address for Unraveled is 6 W. Route 66, Flagstaff, AZ. It is located right across from the train depot (and is, curiously enough, a block away from F.I.R.E.!).
(Childe, thank you for nominating the Dulaan Project for the The Knitty Professor's competition. Way to get the word out!)
Not being, as I said, a follower of popular fads, I shriek and run, arms flapping, when I encounter one of those myriad “personality tests” or similar “applets” that infest the Net, but, apparently, I can be bought because this one was just too funny to pass up. Nos. 5, 6, 9, 10 had me ROTFLMAOWPIMP.
And because I couldn’t resist:
What I really want to know is what, really, are they talking about in #8. 46,000 pieces of what float on every square mile of ocean? Maybe I don’t want to know. (Found the answer: Plastic debris. I thought it was going to be whale poop. Sigh. There’s just no excuse for the way my mind works.)
And for those of you who didn’t have enough beer on Monday—now do you see the frickin' squirrel?
And for those of you who loyally stuck by me during the "red, white and black" fracas, TMK says, "Now do you see the frickin' blue?"
While on the subject of the Knitting Olympics, I want to acknowledge the following people, all of whom have committed their Knitting Olympics time to knitting for Dulaan:
Isela - 16 items for Dulaan
Lavender - a hat a day for the Dulaan Project
Mary Lee (unless I am mistaken, this is "our" Mary Lee) - 16 hats for the Dulaan Project
Nancy - charity and stash knitting for Dulaan
Peggy - 8 items for Dulaan Project
Tracey - 10 items for Dulaan Project
Also, Isela created this great button:
It feels as if, ever since I posted the pictures of the Mongolian children receiving the knitted items, interest in Dulaan has really skyrocketed. Thank you, everyone!!