Apparently my sense of self-preservation isn’t very strong since the fact that I can’t feel either hand when I wake up in the morning hasn’t been enough to prevent me from doing this:
Or from frogging it down to the green and knitting it back up again.
This is the Recession of Ought-Nine Sweater, knit entirely out of stash—although I suspect it’s going to be one of those projects where you go in with the best of economical intentions but find you have thismuch too little yarn and have to buy more, which defeats the entire purpose of the exercise. Nothing exotic here; just yer good ol’ Cascade 220 in black, a darker, brighter teal blue than the picture shows plus the pine-y, heathery green left over from the Good-Enough Gansey.
I am, again, completely astonished to find myself designing a sweater on the fly but this time around I have the crutch of the measurements from the Good-Enough Gansey. Helpful, that.
A shout-out to everyone who, after my last entry, was brave enough to share their moments of sheer lunacy, from ironing clothes that were on, to shaking already-open bottles of catsup and chocolate drink, to spectacularly unsuccessfully drinking sugary coffee while lying down, to only being able to think of “cephalopod” in the doctor’s office. Loved every story. Laughed out loud. We are so human, all of us.
Then, an extra shout-out two very special Dear Readers! First, a warm welcome back to Stalker Angie who rejoins us after a few difficult years that put my battles with my Preciouses to shame, but who seems to be doing much better. Long-time readers will remember her from wu-haaaaaaay back when and how I was so pleased to have my very own stalker since I thought it made me a real blogger.
And then there’s Cath who, despite an unbelievable six years of entries to slog through, has read the blog from beginning to end. Blows my mind Every Time, man. Very, very groovy. Welcome to the blog, Cath. Thank you for your lovely, long comment, so funny in some places, so supportive and sweet in others. You will be a grand addition to the Mossy Cottage Knits family.
Swapna commented that there has been a lack of cat stories lately. There hasn’t been much activity going on in the cat-world. Benny hasn’t jumped off the kitchen ceiling lately and we’ve come to a truce about the freezer door (he calls it a “truce;” I call it a “pain in the ass”—he sits on the freezer door and I change my mind about what I’m going to eat so it doesn’t involve the freezer) so the best I can do is this recent picture of Benny lying in a sunbeam behind the microwave…
…and a fuzzy action photo of Joon, who is actually much bolder than Benny, trying to walk down the inch-wide iron banister of the spiral staircase, thinking, I’m convinced, the cat equivalent of “Look, Ma! No hands!” She gets a little ballsier every time she does this. It terrifies the living daylights out of me but it’s one of those situations where trying to fix it (i.e., thundering up the stairs to try to save her) would only make it worse. So I edge closer to the stairs, arms held out, just in case she bites it—but she always does something sensible in the end.
Annie asks why I wash my dishes in a bucket. I have an old-fashioned, huge, undivided farm sink, so I put the dishes in a rectangular plastic bucket in the sink so I use less water. Which leads me to my ultimate confession: That wasn’t the first time I had been thrown for a loop by the transparent cutting board. Sigh.
Remember the time I shook a bottle of Frappuccino when it didn’t have a lid on?
Or the time I unzipped the wrong part of my outfit?
Or the time I almost frogged an entire garment because I thought it had holes in it only to remember in the nick of time that they were buttonholes?
Or the time I thought they had moved the Empire State Building ( see #32)?
Or the time I shot conditioner up my nose? (Which, by the way, not long after prompted a phone call from Big Sister in which she confessed that she was at that very moment standing in the shampoo aisle and had done the exact same thing. Must be genetic.)
Or…well, I could go on but why don’t I instead add a new chapter to “She’s Only Human After All?”
Tonight I was washing dishes in a washbucket full of sudsy water, my next victim a bowl sitting in the bottom of the bucket. I aimed for it with my scrub brush and…what’s this? Some mysterious force was standing between the brush and the bowl! I couldn’t get to the bowl! I jabbed and shoved and poked and scraped with the brush but was stopped every time an inch away from my goal. Surely this was the work of the Devil! Surely there was some evil magic force at work! Surely brain-sucking aliens had somehow injected a futuristic, invisible forcefield into my bucket of sudsy water! Surely…
The thing is, see, there was a transparent cutting board resting above the bowl. I don’t even want to tell you all the weird places my brain went before I figured this out.