tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39702908423655749132024-02-20T08:27:43.573-08:00A Breath and a ShoutSweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-42363390048021154052017-02-22T14:33:00.002-08:002017-02-22T14:33:56.888-08:00In Which I Buy Yarn
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Last year
was a little intense. Lots of things happened. My mother fell, broke her hip,
and landed herself in a nursing home. I delivered my third baby, my first
little son. My family moved to a new house in a deliberately slow way. These
actions and tugs on my time combined into a very clear picture. This one to be
precise:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdQbCrVXrv3XcLlrVI0ZBlYEIt6pX5ZPTU59aZWYs5ytESo2rH3XPd_KnPxrrCZJ4Fiy7CMIAaZtOBqBMBR43NHU6XlVYR31mXuH2BQQKLWN9ojYU6YCP_omYAVBujZZKhxmBRhiHp8rQ/s1600/Stash+2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdQbCrVXrv3XcLlrVI0ZBlYEIt6pX5ZPTU59aZWYs5ytESo2rH3XPd_KnPxrrCZJ4Fiy7CMIAaZtOBqBMBR43NHU6XlVYR31mXuH2BQQKLWN9ojYU6YCP_omYAVBujZZKhxmBRhiHp8rQ/s400/Stash+2016.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
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<span id="goog_22405488"></span><br /><span id="goog_22405489"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have
oodles of yarn, packed and pocketed into every crevice I can conceive and
hardly any time to use it. While combining it to move to the new house, which
took hours and hours because I punctuated my work with tending to my infant, I
had pangs of nostalgia. I remember buying this sweater kit – wow, it’s so
gorgeous. I was going to cast that on the moment it arrived in the mail. Oh,
this bag has all the wool I set aside for a fingerless mitten extravaganza. I
never knit a single pair. Rich bought me this silk for my birthday; it’s set to
be a shawl. On and on, over and over with the yarn memories. The plans and the
skeins tumbled over each other, and it actually started to get me down. And
when I finally had it all in one spot, possibly for the first time since it was
a tiny little stash that used to fit in one bitty box under my bed, and I was
sitting on my couch nursing my son and staring at it, I had a little bit of a
cry (that postpartum period is no joke – you’re always on the verge of breaking
into tears). All that beautiful yarn, all those knitted things that I dreamed
of having, all right there and completely overwhelming.</div>
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Then Rich
came home and said the things he usually says, “Why are you crying again? Whoa,
that’s a lot of yarn. Please tell me that’s all the yarn.” He looked at the
yarn boxes and bins, then at me, and wisely bit his lip, choosing his next
words with care. He gently asked if I still needed it all or if there was some
I no longer loved and could give away. (I did give away a bag, but it was such
a small amount that it doesn’t really count.) He noted, as tactfully as
possible, that if I refrained from buying any more yarn I probably would not
feel bereft for the rest of my life. </div>
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<br /></div>
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And then we
had to physically lift it all up, put it in the back of the truck, and find a
new home for it in my new house, coming to terms with the very real fact that I
have more materials to make myself clothes than I do actual clothes. And I was
filled with resolve. At one point or another, I genuinely loved all this yarn
and was delighted at the idea of using it. At some point in my past I
daydreamed of casting it on and pulling into existence that Dogwood Blossoms
sweater or Sam the Ram.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyw0nmTz0JYqIEIzOlkTfiCwcUijez1xSB2kVbMGtcNwDMhE0NZZyqhSX41g0YzjmItyFY-T3biHAmed9_h2gy4CtwN49VXLuv2OWUhI3Ly-ahauzsqm8BfHMLB9TT6TzezmjWLHA1p1o5/s1600/Dogwood+Blossoms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyw0nmTz0JYqIEIzOlkTfiCwcUijez1xSB2kVbMGtcNwDMhE0NZZyqhSX41g0YzjmItyFY-T3biHAmed9_h2gy4CtwN49VXLuv2OWUhI3Ly-ahauzsqm8BfHMLB9TT6TzezmjWLHA1p1o5/s400/Dogwood+Blossoms.jpg" width="351" /></a></div>
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(Photo courtesy of Knit Picks) (Knit kit a present to myself) So gorgeous.<br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmWB-Pklp-rapcwkyHKYzOV8CExvHIWsDZa8x1MTcX64pTNQ3QvTrunTea2hCUBX0T7KE08KHdvGXHO5sbHY3wHKHwSGglkHZ9KD3FYkJSP9PexHvZ_LMYNf-QndxDViPj-OzIwT6kdJUW/s1600/Sam+the+Ram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmWB-Pklp-rapcwkyHKYzOV8CExvHIWsDZa8x1MTcX64pTNQ3QvTrunTea2hCUBX0T7KE08KHdvGXHO5sbHY3wHKHwSGglkHZ9KD3FYkJSP9PexHvZ_LMYNf-QndxDViPj-OzIwT6kdJUW/s320/Sam+the+Ram.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
(Photo courtesy of Knittingpark.blogspot.com. She did such a good job.) (Knit kit a present from my husband. My couch needs him desperately.)<br />
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<br /></div>
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And I
decided, as I have in the past, to refrain from purchasing new yarn for a year.
Nothing. Not one tiny ball. I have never in my life succeeded in this
resolution. However, I set myself up for success this year by doing two things
I’ve never done before.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I made a knitting schedule. I put on paper every
pattern I wanted to knit this year and the yarn I wanted to use for it. There
are 66 things on that list, about a third more than I knit last year. There is
no way I’m going to need more yarn from what’s on that list.</div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I made a pinkie promise with my daughter that I
would purchase a new toy for her and her sister should I fail in my no-new-yarn
diet. Ezri’s keen on new toys – she checks in with me often. Accountability is
everything.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And that’s
how it happened. I placed my final yarn order shortly before New Year’s, before
the pinkie promise thing, and settled in to my fantastic plan, knitting
delicious patterns with my already purchased lovelies. The schedule and the big
bins still sitting in my bedroom made me comfortable. I had no urges to buy
anything. Having absolutely no space to put it helps. No new yarn for any
reason. I’m already almost 1/6 through the year. No problem.</div>
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Enter my
sister-in-law, Christa.</div>
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Christa,
bless her heart, is one of the most knit-worthy people I know. She asks for
very little, understands that when she does ask for something it might take me
months to get around to it, and she treasures every piece I’ve ever given her
including that awful, scratchy purple monstrosity of a sweater (with boa yarn
at the cuffs) that I knit her for Christmas when I wasn’t very good at knitting.
I don't know why I didn't take the actual open wounds the yarn created on my hands while I worked as some sort of clue that this sweater wasn't going to be the most comfortable, but I was young and stupid and get this - thought it would get softer after I washed it. She wore it proudly for years and actually asked me to fix it when she finally
wore a hole in it. I dumped the whole thing in the trash unceremoniously and
promised her something better as a reward for not stuffing the first one deep
under her bed. Yes, it was that bad. I know it looks stylish and cozy in the
pictures. Lies. I can’t believe she wore it so long. I also knit one for my sister (I knit this twice, oh my goodness) and she wisely thanked me and promptly hung it up in the darkness of the basement.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hPgmgBOiUzp8gfCOzPOho44sM1Hk0gbiPJIv5rWBCLXqtee9ob2HP0Jua9Zw34yHtfHiFP0imP6Zv8BImZOIb7ke9s318mVllqmvhHRoC0_bNJiZot0-IEmufkXoaHMAGEZ2H3CPQaBc/s1600/Bernat_Boa_Matrix_sweater_small2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hPgmgBOiUzp8gfCOzPOho44sM1Hk0gbiPJIv5rWBCLXqtee9ob2HP0Jua9Zw34yHtfHiFP0imP6Zv8BImZOIb7ke9s318mVllqmvhHRoC0_bNJiZot0-IEmufkXoaHMAGEZ2H3CPQaBc/s400/Bernat_Boa_Matrix_sweater_small2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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</div>
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(what can I say? The yarn was a dollar a ball. I know better now.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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So anyway,
Christa doesn’t ask for much, but when she turned up pregnant with my first
little niece (on my husband’s side of the family), I cranked out the knits for
her. I had no children of my own then (2007), so I had tons of time. Not the skills I
do now, but definitely time. I made a wonky little sweater and a beautiful
crocheted baby blanket (I was better at crochet back then) – the one on the
cover of this cute little booklet I own.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DBE74Mbhfo3pOaB7zpmuib4MxJYNOI62y3f5Yo-sm0ajYF-ZNjNwSyRCJHmHEzlTzR9-FKPIrdxqLjSljLVc5IekNJ2i3GOvLQprFCzV-nbfznximZn4Abui6i4Adgxl-NFJ2cGHtcit/s1600/Rainbow+Ripples.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DBE74Mbhfo3pOaB7zpmuib4MxJYNOI62y3f5Yo-sm0ajYF-ZNjNwSyRCJHmHEzlTzR9-FKPIrdxqLjSljLVc5IekNJ2i3GOvLQprFCzV-nbfznximZn4Abui6i4Adgxl-NFJ2cGHtcit/s400/Rainbow+Ripples.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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It really
was a lovely thing, that blanket. All those ends I wove in on that bit of
auntie love. I gave it to Christa to wrap her little darling in, but apparently
I’d made the blanket a bit too nice. Christa looked at the blanket and saw what
a lot of people don’t – the time and energy I had stitched into it, and she
decided that she absolutely could not allow it to be dragged on the ground when
the baby kicked it out of the stroller or set it on the floor at church so the precious
moppet could roll around on it. Despite my assurances that I had crocheted it
with a very sturdy washable yarn, she just could not see it spoiled with spit
up. She tried – I know she did, but in the end, she washed it, folded it, and
wrapped it in tissue paper, tucking it in the upper parts of a closet, never to
return.</div>
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I do not
truck with this idea of things being too nice to use, but I also believe deeply
that once I have given something away, no matter how much time I put into it,
it’s not mine anymore. And if someone wants to use their sweater to line their
dog’s bed – that’s cool with me. Likewise, hiding it from the light of day is
ok too. </div>
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I will
repeat these things to myself often, with clenched teeth, until I believe them.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now after
the rainbow blanket was set aside for some future, mysterious use, it left
Christa without a blanket. Well, I’m sure she had plenty of blankets, but since
she is who she is, knowing that handmade blankets are superior in every way,
she took herself to a store and picked out two skeins of Bernat Baby
Coordinates Sweet Stripes yarn. She drove it up to Rexburg and left it in her
trunk while she visited with me and let me hold her little daughter. She waited
until I was all cozy with the baby, putty in her hands, and then asked if I
would mind making her another baby blanket – if she bought me the yarn. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well of
course I will! No problem. I’ll make whatever you want. And just like that –
the yarn was in my hands, the baby was gone, and I had a new project. The
instructions were to just knit the blanket from the pattern on the ball band.
That’s the blanket she wanted; no substitutions allowed. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_K6RD2BOsHnlcUHT4fPhNenWWxo90TPQiRTN9byDKAbZMrg_wTZhRVWJDLRdXp2EfOQ-cYyG7BEmbsrZ1g7PbLinwjc0JN6umg-dnXcsGjERaz3pZADPrs9crqCyCjiCZ4j73Lo6Vdue/s1600/SS+Pink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_K6RD2BOsHnlcUHT4fPhNenWWxo90TPQiRTN9byDKAbZMrg_wTZhRVWJDLRdXp2EfOQ-cYyG7BEmbsrZ1g7PbLinwjc0JN6umg-dnXcsGjERaz3pZADPrs9crqCyCjiCZ4j73Lo6Vdue/s320/SS+Pink.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
(This stuff. Except there were two of them. And it was purple and white. Yarn in the picture is not mine, but it is on sale on ebay and I kind of wish I could buy it. If there were two of them available, all bets would be off.)<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
After
recovering from that bait-and-switch, I looked at the yarn and laughed that it
was pretty much the exact same yarn I’d made the rainbow blanket from. Except
this one striped on its own instead of being a solid color. I looked at the
pattern and recoiled slightly. The way it was done would make the stripes
smaller and smaller since you start at one corner and increase at each edge,
making a triangle until you use half the yarn, then you decrease one stitch at
each edge until you have made a second triangle – creating a square blanket
where the stripes are beautiful and wide at two of the corners but all mushed
up and weird in the middle. All in garter stitch – the most boring (some people say soothing, I say boring. Tomato. Tomahto. whatever) BORING of all the
knitting stitches in the entire world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But what
could I do? I broke into the first skein and started knitting. I’m not sure how
long it took, but I remember thinking that I’d never finish many times during
those intensely long middle rows. How much yarn is in this skein? How does it
not use any to knit a huge row like this? Will I ever knit anything else?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
By the time
I’d hit the second skein I was daydreaming of socks, sweaters, anything that
wasn’t soul-sucking miles of garter stitch. But I was working on it when my
mother-in-law stopped by one late afternoon, carrying the tiny blanket
recipient in her arms for a visit. I’m not sure why she was baby-sitting that
day, but I do remember very clearly that little baby Danyelle took one look at
her Uncle Ducky, who sported a beard in those days, and burst into tears. Just
all out howling, completely undone and inconsolable. My mother-in-law kissed
her and bounced her with no effect. When she’d hit her limit, she deposited the
wee peachling onto my lap to let me have a go, which wasn’t a great idea since
I didn’t have kids and had no clue what to do with this miniature ball of
misery.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I still had
the blanket on my knees, still on the needles, but Danyelle didn’t care. She
grabbed it with her chubby little hands, both hands, big fistfuls, and shoved
that blanket on her face, obscuring her scary uncle. She sobbed into the
unfinished blanket for a second or two, then calmed down. As long as her nose
was covered in sparkly garter stitch, she was good. We had a cuddle and a
visit, which ended in more tears when Danyelle was separated from her purple
stripey blanket to go home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There’s
nothing quite like an episode like that to spur you toward a finished project.
That darling needs a blanket! I poured on the burn and knit through 115 rows
that day, finishing at long last late that night. I was not going to stand in
the way of a girl and her blankie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdduGEsQ-smLApHA5D9uQd_M3dVUa4ExthCxHf8H7FwNto-HtNEgVelaW5dRnmxubGZ2UI4PMkOhX3kPX7Q8BaJQGmTTYzvzbD80owu3Pv99jNxFZTzIq3e8oRXSk2Mf_Wr-s3_VJmx1rk/s1600/Baby+Danyelle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdduGEsQ-smLApHA5D9uQd_M3dVUa4ExthCxHf8H7FwNto-HtNEgVelaW5dRnmxubGZ2UI4PMkOhX3kPX7Q8BaJQGmTTYzvzbD80owu3Pv99jNxFZTzIq3e8oRXSk2Mf_Wr-s3_VJmx1rk/s400/Baby+Danyelle.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
What wouldn't you knit for that precious little poppet?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Danyelle
continued to be obsessed with her blanket for years, to the point that Christa
brought me another two skeins, pink and white this time, and asked me to knit a
second one for those horrible moments when the first one had to be washed. That
plan didn’t really work, though, because Danyelle just started carrying them
BOTH around with her where ever she went. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLULyqXm2SxKUQ_9VNuAJEz-44ASmOD0B4lp_xYr8CITl_XPj-MHo7XK5dG07vMikYENgrLUMRT4s1dOOisKIz_sZcmCx2Tnjh3cFwIR3N0ONBbffoteKiXVpamO9LPr3T7m6Dq-L0soL/s1600/Pink+Blanket+Christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLULyqXm2SxKUQ_9VNuAJEz-44ASmOD0B4lp_xYr8CITl_XPj-MHo7XK5dG07vMikYENgrLUMRT4s1dOOisKIz_sZcmCx2Tnjh3cFwIR3N0ONBbffoteKiXVpamO9LPr3T7m6Dq-L0soL/s320/Pink+Blanket+Christmas.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
She also got a hand crocheted 10-piece nativity set that year. Not sure why I killed myself making that when all she wanted was the stripe blanket, but that's love, isn't it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sweet
Stripes was discontinued by Bernat (Why?! Bernat!?) shortly after I sort of fell in love with the stripey blankets, but I snagged four skeins (two purple, two pink)
on the yarn black market (Yes, there is such a thing, shush) for Danyelle, just
in case I ever need to replace either of her blankies. So far, so good. It’s
been nine years of constant snuggling and washing, but they are still
holding up well. They have been camping and on road trips, to the zoo, to
grandma’s, to Disneyland, and most recently, Danyelle has been taking one to
school.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And here we
have it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
When you are
nine years old and struggling with bullies and all the nastiness of being a
smart girl in fourth grade, sometimes you need your comfort object.
Unfortunately, the comfort object is a little too large to fit discreetly into
a desk and allow access to the favorite rubbing corner. So Christa asked me to make a mini
blanket, 8 x 8 inches, a potholder really, out of the same yarn, so Danyelle
could have a school blanket that wouldn’t draw so much attention or take up so
much desk real estate. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There is no
way I could break into those sacred four skeins to make a potholder, it would
mean I couldn’t make a duplicate blanket. So I asked what color Danyelle would
like, noting very strongly that I had solid white and solid pink in that yarn. She chose
Soft Turquoise. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57B-Tu8dZjVVqh8cTZQAS8Mvbr9ojiCCkDoKZ8vewJK62CDQIeWj4KWalkmeeURgAWQ63joTg3-Ao1uKr4UGSMBboUp2Up6xzrEDgRS7jxaF9Mwkaax6_Rmox8NLwhYdbJU5qCMeRrtj6/s1600/Bernat+Baby+Coordinates+Soft+Turquoise+Ball.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57B-Tu8dZjVVqh8cTZQAS8Mvbr9ojiCCkDoKZ8vewJK62CDQIeWj4KWalkmeeURgAWQ63joTg3-Ao1uKr4UGSMBboUp2Up6xzrEDgRS7jxaF9Mwkaax6_Rmox8NLwhYdbJU5qCMeRrtj6/s400/Bernat+Baby+Coordinates+Soft+Turquoise+Ball.jpeg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't know why I bothered with the pictures at night - that is not even close to its real color. <br />
<br />
That’s a ton of yarn to knit a square, just so you know (140g). Also, when I went to
order the soft turquoise, I made another discovery! Not only is the Sweet
Stripes yarn discontinued, but now the solid colors in the 180g skeins that I
have been pulling from my stash for more baby blankets have been discontinued
as well. And just when I found the magic stitch count number to use them up
exactly. This has created the urge to hit Ravelry, Etsy, and Ebay to procure
every skein of it I possibly can, just so I can always make these blankets, but
I am resisting. I already broke my no new yarn rule to get the turquoise. I
still have some of the old stuff stashed – I’ll just have to be more discerning
about who gets one of these suddenly a lot more special than I originally
realized baby blankets. Perhaps I’ll start bidding wars among the pregnant
people I know. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The knitting
of the square took about fifteen seconds. I sneezed and it fell off the
needles, bang, done. I had the thought of knitting a second one, then using the
rest of the yarn to make a scarf with two mini blanket square ends, but changed
my mind. For the moment, this will be enough. I hope. We’ll see what Danyelle
says after she gets it in a few days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQN4kGL7mDhw-67A-baXhuHXLIa58un7EbjPTQGBr8uzghWRP41G3CvTSRGK8Ym2g1qDpNBdxbLahH73w8tyiKjPMQHKkAZCQFLC7mmCMMzOqrMzJJyOuDuKvZV7UNd1_7BjoUu3kyeAcE/s1600/Mini+Blanket+Square.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQN4kGL7mDhw-67A-baXhuHXLIa58un7EbjPTQGBr8uzghWRP41G3CvTSRGK8Ym2g1qDpNBdxbLahH73w8tyiKjPMQHKkAZCQFLC7mmCMMzOqrMzJJyOuDuKvZV7UNd1_7BjoUu3kyeAcE/s400/Mini+Blanket+Square.jpeg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But wait! A
broken rule is a broken rule, no matter how good the cause, right? It would
have been so easy to pretend this yarn had come from one of the bins and bags
in my closet. It’s not like my daughter has a checklist of all my stuff (oh,
what a good idea. I should totally get myself a checklist!). She would never
have known that I had to buy the yarn for this. The whole project came together
quickly and quietly; Ezri never even saw it since I opened the bag the yarn
came in, cast it on, and cast it off all while she was snoozing in her bedroom.
But what’s integrity if you’re going to do stuff like that? Besides, we made a
pinkie promise. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I bought
the girls a new toy approximately the same cost as my yarn. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3sScaCDbgSLEZ-cxGZ_AEAKV3dwh2PrIlnUPHk02Fo-rwlb99TX8BKiShirNBwk6XgVCZJXXBhPI2_s2Bp2es8ubKZSRtTdExTQSwpqYylTmTeqFlyOXSaz7jpdtRYvPjOBsbFz8ZLk5v/s1600/Toy+Promise+Kept.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3sScaCDbgSLEZ-cxGZ_AEAKV3dwh2PrIlnUPHk02Fo-rwlb99TX8BKiShirNBwk6XgVCZJXXBhPI2_s2Bp2es8ubKZSRtTdExTQSwpqYylTmTeqFlyOXSaz7jpdtRYvPjOBsbFz8ZLk5v/s640/Toy+Promise+Kept.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Worth it.
One hundred percent. <br />
<br />
But SERIOUSLY, no more yarn!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-1538673913862467772016-05-23T12:09:00.000-07:002016-05-23T12:09:42.177-07:00Things That I Saw At the Knitting Convention<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHCPo0gNWhPKivrsjxES0-sJk7cgdmXvPnltr6mF_Ag7uYK9pCYCKbOBiHFZxZmwxPMeucj2in4uXs09V0tA4nYlyW0ZCqNbeMEHqAzPQ_d4sD8tJV3EFktjfXIsxYSldzsG0DQyHxTQJq/s1600/Big+Grey+Knitting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Vogue Knitting Pasadena 2016</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When last we checked in with our wool-obsessed heroine, she
was staying up way too late trying to figure out what she should bring to the
knitting convention.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hmm? Knitting convention? Oh, you mean where you take your
cup of tea to the bit of closet you have set aside for that Rubbermaid
container full of yarn and sort through it, right? Taking stock of what you
have and perhaps seeking out that one ball of pink sport weight to knit your
toddler a hat? That’s a knitting convention? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, sweet soul, that’s something else. I mean a full on,
three-day, have to buy tickets in advance knitting convention. Now pick your
jaw up off the floor. If there can be such a thing a toy train conventions and
cat shows popping up consistently at my local mason lodge, there can definitely
be such a thing as a knitting convention. I even go one step more and tell you
that it was a Crowded Knitting Convention.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went last year for the very first time. I took a class on
how to cut steeks, how to sew in zippers, and a little workshop where we knit a
little dragon and learned all sorts of interesting and helpful toy making tips.
This year when I looked over the class schedule, there weren’t any that really
jumped at me (plus my knitting budget is a little tighter this year). Mostly
this year I wanted to spend an entire Saturday wandering around the
Marketplace. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiul2lKRArheS15ho5y0L3iQf2zvL6hJl3uHvM7S2l9WGeC-Co2jTTvGYnelJ9l2pduksjqcn6Be1kHUcp_Y77ikSoG0xKf_YeaERTjpfRcROb_Rok-0AX65iHAcMHIXOi4_wj6lHmyPrfA/s1600/Weaving+Banners.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiul2lKRArheS15ho5y0L3iQf2zvL6hJl3uHvM7S2l9WGeC-Co2jTTvGYnelJ9l2pduksjqcn6Be1kHUcp_Y77ikSoG0xKf_YeaERTjpfRcROb_Rok-0AX65iHAcMHIXOi4_wj6lHmyPrfA/s320/Weaving+Banners.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My original plan was to leave early in the morning, stop by
the Pasadena Central Library for a book I wanted to read, then get to the
convention site and knit until the marketplace opened at 10 am. Because it’s
fun to get there early and watch the knitters trickle in from where ever
knitters come from (there are so many, it’s kind of interesting that I never
spot one in the wild), all wearing the most amazing things even though it is
May in Pasadena and much too hot for them to be wearing them. Then I would
wander happily around, taking breaks to just sit and knit and watch other
shoppers, all the way until closing time at 6 pm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because, you see, my Saturdays are structured most of the
time. T-ball, menu planning, grocery shopping, library, cat boxes and rat
cages, vacuuming, sheet washing, and all of it done without spousal support
because he’s usually at a training or something. So the idea of spending a
Saturday just sitting in a random spot at the convention center, not doing
anything at all but knitting and watching other knitters buy yarn, is just the
sort of delicious treat that I had been coveting and dreaming about for a long
time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHCPo0gNWhPKivrsjxES0-sJk7cgdmXvPnltr6mF_Ag7uYK9pCYCKbOBiHFZxZmwxPMeucj2in4uXs09V0tA4nYlyW0ZCqNbeMEHqAzPQ_d4sD8tJV3EFktjfXIsxYSldzsG0DQyHxTQJq/s1600/Big+Grey+Knitting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHCPo0gNWhPKivrsjxES0-sJk7cgdmXvPnltr6mF_Ag7uYK9pCYCKbOBiHFZxZmwxPMeucj2in4uXs09V0tA4nYlyW0ZCqNbeMEHqAzPQ_d4sD8tJV3EFktjfXIsxYSldzsG0DQyHxTQJq/s320/Big+Grey+Knitting.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span id="goog_411314479"></span><span id="goog_411314480"></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, my plan didn’t go quite as it should. Because I
know the deep struggle of keeping it all together on a Saturday by myself, I
had a wrench of guilt leaving my husband that morning with a conflict of time.
T-ball goes from 9 – 10:30 am. Ducky needs to be at his office at 10. Despite
my ample warning time, he had not been able to find a solution to this issue,
and I felt a twinge of marital responsibility to not abandon him. So I stayed
home when I wanted to be leaving. Ducky took Meridy with him to the search and
rescue station for his mandatory duty crew truck check. I took Ezri to the
grocery store and bought peaches, pop, and peanut butter, then trucked her down
to T-ball at 9. I watched her play – my favorite was the time she hit the foul
ball and it landed perfectly in one of the batting helmets left upside down on
the sidelines. Then we walked home and I quick as anything put together three
lunches (one for Meridy, one for Ezri, and one for me), threw three knitting projects,
my lunch, a soda, my wallet and phone, and my most important wrist band that
would allow me into the convention into a pink rolling suitcase, and we were
off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I dropped Ezri off at Ducky’s office with their lunches,
kissed my husband good-bye, and gleefully got back into the car, by myself, to
drive to the convention center. I missed out on the first two hours and the
library, but I did get to make Ducky’s life a little easier, and honestly, I
knew I wouldn’t really need eight full hours of shopping. It was a healthy
compromise. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The best part of a knitting convention is seeing that even
though knitting is a rather solitary activity, I have a lot of spiritual
friends who have very similar feelings toward sticks and string. We are an
entire culture. It’s like being a member of a secret club – we know we’re out
there, but it’s only in times like this, in places like this, where we can
really pull all our dorkiness out into the open and have everyone else accept
and cherish it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s why it was cool when I chased down Wendy. I don’t
know Wendy. I’ve never seen her before. But she was wearing an awesome jacket
and I just had to have a picture of it. And not only did she not call the
police on the strange, pregnant woman running her down to ask about her jacket,
she seemed genuinely happy that someone had noticed her hard work and
craftsmanship. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvP1qknOnJmtw3rP5tV2j5qOuonl4ocBepXTe2mzVAeF0JVNnLXB7AiyCRbk60jT1LAujfcyvbsqehAk147S14-tHGZkt-P530-h_z09Mjvh8w-XsANWLFgsILkyH5FyLvP9t24vxG-yZ/s1600/Mitered+Coat+Back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvP1qknOnJmtw3rP5tV2j5qOuonl4ocBepXTe2mzVAeF0JVNnLXB7AiyCRbk60jT1LAujfcyvbsqehAk147S14-tHGZkt-P530-h_z09Mjvh8w-XsANWLFgsILkyH5FyLvP9t24vxG-yZ/s320/Mitered+Coat+Back.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
See what I mean? Great jacket. Too hot to wear it, but I’m
glad Wendy decided to suffer a little so I could enjoy her awesome stitching.
There was neat stuff like that all over. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the marketplace, I got to see that there are knitters out
there who have more time than I do for getting all creative.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aNnIimdl-q0fTEl2CZHwe4oY7t1lDCpDfNQ1IRUJeUMY6qVYQlqpJWyFuceGFMkZpCis7HgyIxJbIf4KE0VpX91qcnMUWru1kWO4Dme0zoUgTeEsXU-AjAYxavKH0kle_KFpjThcmMw9/s1600/Intestines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aNnIimdl-q0fTEl2CZHwe4oY7t1lDCpDfNQ1IRUJeUMY6qVYQlqpJWyFuceGFMkZpCis7HgyIxJbIf4KE0VpX91qcnMUWru1kWO4Dme0zoUgTeEsXU-AjAYxavKH0kle_KFpjThcmMw9/s320/Intestines.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are crafters who have huge visions and make art.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCO2NuB8eOp4-JWTOR9FUURolETxdNKEA7xGPyikIDj4A0EaAimNDuh71oL0RzgoS_vtb9IUYykynZyVrOHkHpDRUtdHQ6dMROfNH_hUwYoAH0fr5TyfxwjnQgpf0Sqao0MKiM22qZQRz/s1600/Crochet+Sculpture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCO2NuB8eOp4-JWTOR9FUURolETxdNKEA7xGPyikIDj4A0EaAimNDuh71oL0RzgoS_vtb9IUYykynZyVrOHkHpDRUtdHQ6dMROfNH_hUwYoAH0fr5TyfxwjnQgpf0Sqao0MKiM22qZQRz/s320/Crochet+Sculpture.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And there is yarn for sale for knitters who take their
knitting to the edge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Tga1Wzjltjf0cMCFxz10RlRHWUDYC1ZD8sITPYsIRnQ5SMGlbmbQo1KVhGyoWHMEGYxwu0jOjj7suI_CJ_aF4TzxldLmqhXlO2KhZVo6-vmsq_QHzWy4DWgwCSyNzFCyw1FFmHDis1WZ/s1600/Extreme+Yarn+Label.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Tga1Wzjltjf0cMCFxz10RlRHWUDYC1ZD8sITPYsIRnQ5SMGlbmbQo1KVhGyoWHMEGYxwu0jOjj7suI_CJ_aF4TzxldLmqhXlO2KhZVo6-vmsq_QHzWy4DWgwCSyNzFCyw1FFmHDis1WZ/s320/Extreme+Yarn+Label.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Marketplace for this convention isn’t the biggest one
around. I think that’s a good thing. Even in this small setting, I still needed
a sort of grounding point. I walked into the show area with a couple ideas on
what I wanted to come home with, a firm budget, and a few rules. The budget
I’ll keep secret so you’ll all still think of me as a person of reason and
restraint. As for the rest:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I wanted a color gradient set with six colors,
approximately 120 yards of yarn each</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I wanted to find the super soft organic cotton
baby sets from last year that I regret not buying</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rules!</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I would not purchase any yarn that I already own</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I would not purchase any yarn that I already
have easy access to</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I would not purchase any yarn from any booth
until I had already walked through the entire Marketplace</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I would not purchase yarn unless I had visited
it more than once and had a sit down with my knitting to think about whether I
really wanted it or not</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I would not go over my budget</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I would only buy yarn that had a definite use or
pattern already in mind. I don’t want orphaned skeins all over my house that
are heart-breakingly pretty, but useless as I search fruitlessly for a pattern
that will capture their true potential. This is crippling, and I’m not doing it
this year</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I will not touch horribly expensive fibers if I
don’t have any intention of buying them. I will keep my hands to myself in the
presence of cashmere, silk, and alpaca. If I see angora anything, I will avert
my eyes and go in another direction</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rules and wants securely in place, I began winding my way up
and down the booths. I saw knitting bags, gorgeous ceramic bowls to hold your
balls of yarn as you knit. I walked past Twinkie-chan (she’s a person) giving a
crocheting demonstration in one corner, surrounded by nodding enthusiasts and a
very bemused looking cameraman. I saw oodles of trays of gorgeous buttons.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzmjcVC1d9B9wIctjopIozAoLFHlfUzeYfmPAP6aaqcvA2I1GiGnreg_BdSzOAejr6oD5Q1ALyMx4pnR5lzQGR-6Jpob8bkiDWj-Sow7RdVRMbhdGeQ7xT_sUybQYi-vVVxxhq88qCbjG/s1600/Flower+Buttons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzmjcVC1d9B9wIctjopIozAoLFHlfUzeYfmPAP6aaqcvA2I1GiGnreg_BdSzOAejr6oD5Q1ALyMx4pnR5lzQGR-6Jpob8bkiDWj-Sow7RdVRMbhdGeQ7xT_sUybQYi-vVVxxhq88qCbjG/s320/Flower+Buttons.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I noticed pretty quickly that super bulky yarn is really in
this year. I can see the appeal of the biggest, coziest afghan in the world,
and I know there’s a lady selling them on etsy for hundreds of dollars a piece,
but I just can’t wrap my head around it. I’m not saying it’s not cool, but I
have no use for it and no desire to try it. Knitting for me needs to be
portable and there’s no way I’m carting around a ball of yarn like this:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAGAdNzafmR9sAQ2OORvti2GX8LTa0XSqYGx-VpOr1e5EdhXjaa2BNyyW51pcNdIk0fzPW0YPuXqaJJsR5BoXDkDx4dUMCWZQf51lEP19A_0TvwoDDsMh32dI2VIlwvw2A-h-41MlrrT-/s1600/Huge+Yarn+to+Scale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAGAdNzafmR9sAQ2OORvti2GX8LTa0XSqYGx-VpOr1e5EdhXjaa2BNyyW51pcNdIk0fzPW0YPuXqaJJsR5BoXDkDx4dUMCWZQf51lEP19A_0TvwoDDsMh32dI2VIlwvw2A-h-41MlrrT-/s320/Huge+Yarn+to+Scale.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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and knitting needles like this</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0izkKk9FHEinuZVba_23cBP26-U9toT3Ai28fAwNeQ8z_o89YhhU7Xit_Jd094255pJKf3RsML1w2226qJg6sIEzkhxFlREKldv1QWc1GJNr4USqwPplVmwfQS0tUMJ9wC1GFZw8bi9o/s1600/Needles+Taller+than+My+Daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0izkKk9FHEinuZVba_23cBP26-U9toT3Ai28fAwNeQ8z_o89YhhU7Xit_Jd094255pJKf3RsML1w2226qJg6sIEzkhxFlREKldv1QWc1GJNr4USqwPplVmwfQS0tUMJ9wC1GFZw8bi9o/s320/Needles+Taller+than+My+Daughter.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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So I can knit up a square that will be heavier than one of
my kids. I saw plenty of other knitters carting around big bales of yarn on
their backs, though, so apparently I’m in the minority on this one. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I visited the Habu Textiles booth</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wfhWF9La1Qn4iuAwQEJfy_79lsoojaDg80JHVinisRdxxzIjmlYuTKA939i5-W8JXzhLuBlKKhacmVEsyDeSvoMYnY5LrYD2kXbDXyGp_Qd0jDq4dQGIdQmyo-3X3CDWrqgYP-dZVsOo/s1600/Habu+Textiles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wfhWF9La1Qn4iuAwQEJfy_79lsoojaDg80JHVinisRdxxzIjmlYuTKA939i5-W8JXzhLuBlKKhacmVEsyDeSvoMYnY5LrYD2kXbDXyGp_Qd0jDq4dQGIdQmyo-3X3CDWrqgYP-dZVsOo/s320/Habu+Textiles.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Don’t you love it? Isn’t it pretty? I heard Habu once
described as being the Matrix wardrobe of knitted stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All their designs have this post-apocalyptic
feel to them, mesh-like, drapey, monochromatic colors. Very Matrix. What you
can’t see from this picture is that their yarn is a blend of wool and stainless
steel, which gives their designs a unique look and texture. It’s cool and all,
but again, not something I’m going to spend money on. I walked on.</div>
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And had to duck under another camera who was recording the
fashion show. Yes, that’s right. There were fashion shows every hour with
darling little models wandering up and down the catwalk with the latest in
knitwear draped over their tiny shoulders. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently I missed the baby one first thing
in the morning. Babies! Wearing itty-bitty knitted baby things. Sigh. Maybe
it’s better that I wasn’t there for that one.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPqZWZY0Wuji-kf4eOg1_8VgEoXto0_UI8dbj4r2wf5LYQ1hlPc6kjX-XCgDFpcjc13UZwuV8EaetCwScWmzabsmNB7MJb2-s4ePuP-EOuzMVC6ijiz3BavIT_1l70GvSwn1LKcZlznVJ/s1600/Fashion+Show.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPqZWZY0Wuji-kf4eOg1_8VgEoXto0_UI8dbj4r2wf5LYQ1hlPc6kjX-XCgDFpcjc13UZwuV8EaetCwScWmzabsmNB7MJb2-s4ePuP-EOuzMVC6ijiz3BavIT_1l70GvSwn1LKcZlznVJ/s320/Fashion+Show.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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I didn’t linger to watch them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had other stuff to do. Besides that, while
so many crafters were distracted by the show, it meant that they weren’t taking
up space in the booths or buying the last of some great kit out from under me. I
turned another corner and there was Franklin Habit sitting at a book-signing
booth, just sitting there all alone. I paused long enough to tell him that I
loved his hat collection. This took him a second to process. He’s used to
getting compliments all the time, you see, but mostly about his teaching or his
books or his knitting designs. I’m not sure if anyone ever compliments him on
his choice of head gear. But it’s true. I love his hats, and it seemed a good
opportunity to tell him so. He was very sweet, had the presence of mind to
thank me and look pleased, and then someone came with a book they wanted him to
sign, so I moved out of the way and up the next aisle.</div>
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I visited some more yarn. Yarn that was hung on hooks in
great loopy skeins of potential. There were tons of colors and textures, and I
loved so much of it. If it had been a kit of some kind, I probably would have
been powerless to resist. As it was, it didn’t list a price anywhere on it and
there was not a single hint as to what one might do with it, so I took its
picture and left it there.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqmHAtwNLDVCP76uc6HCGeMZQrLROSH9_9Lbz2cur69J1bNZB7tODiZsbrIqYO8Q1ETVL0mbtiwsK2P2u1EnDjxtAtjEe8ypQ59wSmAYLeR1p9g1eUesf3XpJSBpUDmHuFntGclyNeKZb5/s1600/Big+Beautiful+Loops+of+Potential.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqmHAtwNLDVCP76uc6HCGeMZQrLROSH9_9Lbz2cur69J1bNZB7tODiZsbrIqYO8Q1ETVL0mbtiwsK2P2u1EnDjxtAtjEe8ypQ59wSmAYLeR1p9g1eUesf3XpJSBpUDmHuFntGclyNeKZb5/s320/Big+Beautiful+Loops+of+Potential.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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I found a booth specializing in the exotic fiber department.
I took this picture, but I did not touch the yarn.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6s4qAvWhMOK7MoZs04uSwPwodcRMWmHF0IoRP7nvLL7PI5TNIGusv0fG4aRxk8LJVZPrkYleshHJlaTIYAlQfIgIoZmMBTOlWhI5IWUbV61M8ihmku0OgtQyFrwIvfqmMWeMaV-LRbQ4r/s1600/Exotic+Fibers+Yak+and+Camel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6s4qAvWhMOK7MoZs04uSwPwodcRMWmHF0IoRP7nvLL7PI5TNIGusv0fG4aRxk8LJVZPrkYleshHJlaTIYAlQfIgIoZmMBTOlWhI5IWUbV61M8ihmku0OgtQyFrwIvfqmMWeMaV-LRbQ4r/s320/Exotic+Fibers+Yak+and+Camel.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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I know what you’re thinking. Yak? Oh yes. It’s so much
softer than wool. It does not itch. It does not felt. It’s crazy expensive. To
make up for resisting the pull of the yak, I did take one of these guys down to
pet for a little while.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE85JbHE3flvl6U-JlEIXsq3_JMbb-uEyJm_OByQjL8h6p3tu_E-EHY5wcXqTc7QxCtQ3t56sZeM2Fh6T6kJIROLbfPyClOIgTde-99HQ8ainxgsIsPJkdjzworEltDpYD3JVTXaRDu46q/s1600/Alpaca+Bears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE85JbHE3flvl6U-JlEIXsq3_JMbb-uEyJm_OByQjL8h6p3tu_E-EHY5wcXqTc7QxCtQ3t56sZeM2Fh6T6kJIROLbfPyClOIgTde-99HQ8ainxgsIsPJkdjzworEltDpYD3JVTXaRDu46q/s320/Alpaca+Bears.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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These little guys are made from clean, carded alpaca wool,
naturally colored. They were so sweet, and it’s just the thing to do with
alpaca fiber if you are not a spinner (which I am not). They had more alpaca
roving to spin with, but mostly I just fondled the little bears. I may have
gone back to this booth and pet the bears many times, but no one will tell you
the number of times because I bribed the booth owner into keeping it a secret.
I barely made it out of there without one or two of these tucked into my
suitcase. </div>
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By the time I’d made my way through the whole exhibition
hall, I realized that I hadn’t yet spotted the booth for A Wall of Yarn. I’d
been told by my knitting teacher just the day before that the dudes who own the
Wall of Yarn shop in Freeport, Illinois, had driven themselves across the
country for this event. The last time I was in Illinois I stopped by their shop
and bought some Fairies and Elves Opal. I was wearing the socks I’d made from
one of their skeins. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I turned around for a few minutes, disoriented, until I saw
a little corner of the hall, behind the lady at a table doing knitting nail
art, that I’d missed in trying to duck around the fashion show set up. A whole
corner I hadn’t been to yet, and there they were. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I approached them quietly because I wanted to see what they
had first and if I wanted some of it. Because I didn’t want to get into a
conversation with them and then drift off into the crowd without giving them at
least a little business. Because that’s a long drive, right? That’s also a
dangerous way of thinking in a place like this because all these vendors have
worked hard to be at this event, paid money to have some space in this room,
and if you think the way I was thinking about the Wall of Yarn, my budget was
in deep trouble. Still, I tucked myself into the booth while they were
attending to another customer. </div>
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I shouldn’t have worried so much (but I’m like that). They
were sweet guys and their booth was stuffed full of Nordic yarn. Colorwork
everywhere. Neat bags put together with breath-taking pictures of the potential
awesome inside on the fronts (but no price tags, sneaky yarn guys). And they
were running through their inventory at a pretty good clip, to be honest. I
followed their conversation to their center table and realized it was piled
high with Kauni. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Oh, Kauni. I’ve always wanted to try knitting with it, but
somehow it always seemed too hard to obtain or too expensive to mess with and
what am I going to make with it anyway? Kauni, for those who don’t know, is a
rather rustic wool made in Denmark that has a long color change throughout the
skein. The change is so gradual that it’s impossible to tell all the colors
included by looking at just the outside of a Kauni ball. But the yarn guys had
a plan for that and had helpfully knit up a sample of each of their multitude
of colors and had the whole wooly package sitting on the table to paw at and
enjoy. I watched someone go through it and then my eyes wandered to the side of
the booth where they had hung a shawl. A very Nordic looking shawl. Then I
overheard one of them telling another shopper about the kits for that very
shawl and how he could put one together for her in a minute from the
ingredients on the table. One ball of Kauni. Three balls of a contrasting solid
color. You pick.</div>
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And that’s when I broke the rule about visiting yarn more
than once before buying it. (Does it count that I’ve pined over Kauni online
for years?) I spoke with the booth owners, told them who I was and the friends
(Hi Audrey! Hi Rachel!) we had in common. They laughed at how many people used
to live in and around Freeport that they were meeting today. Then we all looked
through the sample packet together until I found my chosen color. EMH (how
could I resist a color like that?) All three of us started looking around at
the balls of yarn on the table (because it’s not always obvious just by looking
at them if it’s the right color or not what with the changing thing going on).
We picked balls up that had gray in them, but they weren’t my gray. We looked
under balls and on the other side of the table and we started to get a little
worried. The yarn guys mentioned that there was a possibility, what with the
popularity of the little shawl kit I wanted, that they might be out of that
particular color. I wasn’t as worried. There were plenty of other colors I
could fall back on, and I’d had a hard time choosing in the first place so
having to choose something else wasn’t going to be the end of the world for me
just a slight narrowing of my choices (I secretly wanted them ALL). </div>
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But then I picked up a ball that was exactly under my hand,
without moving an inch, and that was it. The last ball of EMH. Then we all
trucked over to the solid contrasts and they even got down on the floor with me
to help me choose a good one, plucked three from the shelves, and packaged it
all up with the pattern for me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZoTs0UxlJfHlgEmZ5og7xGdroQmRf_cQvHMSMxJEI3ak6njWQmC2f8WPoDhBtqJ9suLnNPj-_Xi4WNzR5l8abSGnI68AeyhSPjnCUMXOvlUHYLP6Q-Gi2kPF7jYzREGQSTKP52TAZmyg/s1600/Kauni+Shawl+Kit+Close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZoTs0UxlJfHlgEmZ5og7xGdroQmRf_cQvHMSMxJEI3ak6njWQmC2f8WPoDhBtqJ9suLnNPj-_Xi4WNzR5l8abSGnI68AeyhSPjnCUMXOvlUHYLP6Q-Gi2kPF7jYzREGQSTKP52TAZmyg/s320/Kauni+Shawl+Kit+Close+up.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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I said my good-byes, they went to other shoppers, and I
teetered out of their booth giddy and dazed, the Kauni mine at last in my
suitcase, and the ice broken for the real purchasing of the day to begin.
Right, time to hunt some gradients. </div>
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<br /></div>
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For knitting, there are two types of yarn referred to as
gradients. The first is when you have one continuous yarn dyed different colors
that shifts from one shade to the next. Sometimes the colors are all of one
family, say blue, or sometimes it shifts from red to yellow to purple with long
stretches of each color flowing one to the next. Kauni is a gradient.</div>
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The second kind is a gradient set where you have several
smaller skeins, sometimes all shades of the same color, or sometimes
complimentary colors, all bagged together because they look nice nestled next
to each other. This is a gradient set, and that’s what I was looking for so I
could make On the Spice Market – a shawl I’d seen not too long ago that I was
getting desperate for. There are kits available online for this shawl, but I
wanted to see if I could find one at the marketplace for a little less than
what they were being offered for. </div>
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I found a very miniature set with the six colors I needed,
but not near enough yardage. I should have known that when a package is called
Gumballs, that’s not going to be enough yarn. I found some great sets at the
Forbidden Woolery that were within my price range, had six colors, but fell
just short of the yardage requirements for my shawl. </div>
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I didn’t take a picture of the Forbidden Woolery, but I
should have. Their yarns were so dusky and dark and jeweled. And they all had
great names like Pride, Gluttony, and Lust that makes your yarn habit seem just
a tiny bit sinful, but in a surprisingly tasteful way if that makes any sense
at all (hint: to most people none of the yarn makes sense. Just go with me).
Good marketing, that booth. Pretty yarn. Just not quite what I wanted. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I hauled my rolling suitcase into the Knitting Tree booth
that was taking up quite a bit of real estate. I stayed in that booth for a
very long time and was very pleased to learn that their actual store is within driving
distance to me. I can go back to them whenever I feel the need. The Knitting
Tree had gradients and gradient sets, but again falling short of the yardage. I
almost bought one anyway – it was so cute. They also had these fantastic tiny
skeins called Unicorn Tails from Madelinetosh – beautiful 52-yard skeins of
fabulous that probably would have come home with me if they hadn’t been housed
right by the cash register and I thought I would be too much in the way of
people making their purchases to paw through them the way I wanted to. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The Knitting Tree also had my cotton baby kits! Except, too
many people had gotten to them before I did, so there were only a few and they
weren’t what I wanted. I remember a pair of pants and a sweater with a tasseled
hood being the objects of my desire last year, and there were none of those. I
did figure out the name – Appalachian Organic Cotton Baby kits – so now I can
track them online and maybe someday even purchase one. </div>
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There was a trunk next to the baby kits full of a gradient
baby blanket kit. (Is anyone noticing a theme for this year? I might have a
gradient fixation.) The sample was delightfully soft, the colors were cute, and
I spent quite some time figuring out if I wanted the blue, the gray, or the
green. I don’t know how I put them all away and left without them, but I did.
They just weren’t quite right for me, and I reminded myself that I had the yarn
for my son’s blanket already with me in the suitcase and it was going to be
just fine. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I did buy stuff at the Knitting Tree booth, though. Two
things. They had a sweater on display that was to die for. I did not buy the
yarn to make one, but I did pick up the pattern. It’s knit with about five
skeins of Malabrigo, which I do love, but I’ll have to save up for that one and
I definitely wasn’t going to pick a color just from the selection they had in
the booth. The pattern gives me the power to enhance my color and yarn choices,
and it’s going to be great someday. I also picked up a skein of Ancient Fiber
Arts yarn from their Meow Collection. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember when I knit that realistic looking cat? I knit it
from the Tabby Cat color of this Meow Collection, and I had always thought that
I might want to knit another one. Well, seeing the Calico in person was enough
to remind me that I still was cat-less, and wouldn’t a little sleepy calico
look great in my office. I’m rather sad I didn’t get the gray tabby too, but
that’s ok. This is yarn I can get anytime, now that I now The Knitting Tree is
closeby, and I don’t have to pay shipping, and maybe I can go though their
Unicorn Tails the way I want to – slowly and out of the way. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I took my stuff and stood in line to buy them, right behind
a woman who was also clutching a skein of Calico. I asked her what she meant to
make with hers, and she didn’t have an answer. She just loves calico cats and
knew she had to have the yarn. I showed her a picture of Jingga, which she
complimented, but feels is beyond her skill level. She thinks she’s just going
to make a shawl. </div>
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The fashionable man at the cash register looked at my
rolling suitcase and told me that was a fantastic idea. He also noticed that it
was far from empty and told me I was doing a great job in the shopping
department. I thanked him, but refrained from telling him that over half the
yarn in the suitcase was stuff I brought from home to work on while I was
thinking about buying other stuff. Then I zipped it up and went on my way. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I picked through the items in the Delicious Yarns booth. I
love the way they package their kits. Check out this little latte cowl thing:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGa15Rg2aWxzl2GFbkT6981lj1CCq6a_Tei8hM0wzoc7GPV0QlS5gIfINGHIMVRNAEA-DgzYGvQbK7OxMqu4wk_jGsr3JPNAxREF5plCZko9WlKG83jtSN0D2tV5XtBLcozvkNhT2gtg3/s1600/Delicious+Yarn+in+a+Cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGa15Rg2aWxzl2GFbkT6981lj1CCq6a_Tei8hM0wzoc7GPV0QlS5gIfINGHIMVRNAEA-DgzYGvQbK7OxMqu4wk_jGsr3JPNAxREF5plCZko9WlKG83jtSN0D2tV5XtBLcozvkNhT2gtg3/s320/Delicious+Yarn+in+a+Cup.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Their colors are nice, and I like the yarn, but I would not
want to make anything with it. I don’t know. It’s too pink and fuzzy? I have no
need for cowls? (just huge Nordic shawls – I know, I’m nothing but
inconsistent) Whatever the reason, I am pulled to their kits, and then I always
leave with nothing from them. But aren’t they just precious?</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The next place I spent money was so eye-catching that I
almost ran over someone as I walked over to it. It was a moth and flame moment
for me; I felt horrible about being so focused on a yarn beacon as to run over
innocent passers-by. The only thing going for me was I wasn’t the only one. I’d
noticed several collisions already because people are not looking at people,
they are totally distracted by the Koigu linen stitch scarf kits or the fashion
show or a bag. Not the best way for people to walk who are also carrying pointy
sticks, but so far so good that there hadn’t been any injuries. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After making my apologies, I ducked safety into Gecko Yarns
where I scooped up the most luscious sock yarn. It was dyed in such a way that
when I knit it up, it will make me a pair of watermelon socks. Watermelon
Socks! With enough leftover to make a watermelon baby hat. And since I’ve been
craving watermelon the most this pregnancy, I have decided that it will be my
labor knitting. I always start a pair of socks for myself in something tasty
when I’m in labor, and these are just the ticket. This yarn was meant for me, and
the dye job is so rich and lovely. And next to the watermelon sock yarn was a
delightful little cake full of colors I adore and a pattern suggestion right
next to it. Kaleidoscope to make a trendy little scarf – shawlette thing that
will only take a minute and will transform me into a creature of fashion and
style. I picked the richest color and paid the dyer. Then I carried my little
skeins in my hands for a bit because they were just too pretty to zip up into a
suitcase. So, so pretty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I walked some more. I visited more gradient sets that
were either short an entire color or didn’t have enough yardage or cost more
than the original online kit. I had my hands massaged with an aloe sort of
lotion that felt wonderful. I had a nasty jolt when I offered the lady my right
hand and saw under the bright lights of the marketplace just how many scars I
have on that hand. The masseuse didn’t flinch a bit, but I sure did . . . at my
own hand, for heaven’s sake. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were other kits, tons of pretty things, and I had all
but given up on the gradient set when I found myself back at the Inner Yarn Zen
booth. I’d been there a couple times before, but they had been very crowded and
I couldn’t do much more but glance at their stuff before the wave of crafters
had pushed me back out into the marketplace sea. This time there was an
opening, and I took it. (There are advantages to a huge pregnant belly and a
rolling suitcase, just saying.) What was the pull of the Inner Yarn Zen booth? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mini-skein grab bags for one. Cheap ones too. Little bags
full of tiny little skeins of yarn in beautiful colors. I thought about getting
one so I could make hexipuffs for my beekeeper’s quilt out of them, or maybe a
crazy stripey sock, or maybe just to hang them from a string and keep them
forever looking beautiful. But when someone leaned down next to me on the floor
so I had to turn my head a bit, I immediately put down the grab bag and snapped
up what was next to them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s no secret that I’m a geek of the highest order. It is
also well known that I am a big fan of knitting kits. Can’t get enough of them,
ever. This bag was labeled Outlander Binge Watcher’s Kit. Now, I don’t watch
Outlander, but I have read the books and I did enjoy them. And the colors! They
were so pretty and rich and deep. There were six of them. Six mini skeins in
beautiful colors, and one huge skein of Parchment nestled in with them. It’s
practically a Spice Market kit all by itself and on accident. The only issue,
the tiniest issue, is that the mini-skeins are 90 yards, and one of the mini
skeins for the Spice Market needs to be 120 yards. I asked the owners what they
made with their binge watcher’s kit, as I noted that there is no pattern
included. Stephen West’s garter stitch Jag was the answer, so I looked up the pattern
on my phone and it’s awesome all by itself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Outlander kit was the last thing I bought. I totaled the
damage and realized that I was within a dollar of my budget. How about that?!
I’m awesome! I took one last tour of the Marketplace, visiting all those things
that I had considered before, and turned them all down. Then, content with my
purchases, I went outside and tucked myself into the steps to knit for a couple
hours before going home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was hard temptation not to start the watermelon socks
immediately – I even had the needles and the pattern already in my head. But I
was a good girl and knit on my son’s baby blanket instead. At various points,
knitters would stroll past from the Marketplace building to the classes
building, trucking huge bags of yarn and sometimes even those enormous knitting
needles. Some of them commented on my choice location. One woman paused to take
a video of me knitting on account of I am rather speedy. I finished my soda and
ate my sandwich and knit and knit until I remembered the library and the dinner
I was supposed to attend that evening.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I made one last stop at the library which was very close to
the convention center. I’d never been to this library before, but I’ll
definitely return. It’s old fashioned and everything is wood. It’s dark, but
not too dark. There are four floors of books and if I had known I would have
taken my knitting there for the last several hours of my free Saturday. Perhaps
someday I’ll get another. I walked right up to my chosen book, on the fourth
floor, checked it out, and made it home right in time to go with my family to
dinner. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDVSP48dKVR_Jhu4EAjEi2XrQDXN_9vQ_Xz7kN32r7waIZjYAEcdEPypnynfcckVZoDVumxjMksNERYaelfSuZR-g0j2Q2Pilp0-4WlhDinXpdPm0WBtYxUhLebZ4tWq9J4iF_9QFUS75/s1600/Haul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDVSP48dKVR_Jhu4EAjEi2XrQDXN_9vQ_Xz7kN32r7waIZjYAEcdEPypnynfcckVZoDVumxjMksNERYaelfSuZR-g0j2Q2Pilp0-4WlhDinXpdPm0WBtYxUhLebZ4tWq9J4iF_9QFUS75/s320/Haul.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All in all, I was very pleased with my day. I have great new
yarn, all of it already had a pattern, and when I knit it all, I’ll have five
(or six with a baby hat) things that will stay with me, and I stayed perfectly
within the budget. Great day. Can’t wait for the next one!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxCPx1lH8k-yypAVF3G95R8iu92GG6LaIEN23hBeX2wbds4tPBm-eG-UEwkNWZPon9IGoxiOJKEgMVO87l-RZ5aYaQz3C8Yo30-6t0RHnYlfqsUWhyJkRQE6_O6ElnLpPu30yrbMLDm9G/s1600/They+had+Me+in+Stitches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxCPx1lH8k-yypAVF3G95R8iu92GG6LaIEN23hBeX2wbds4tPBm-eG-UEwkNWZPon9IGoxiOJKEgMVO87l-RZ5aYaQz3C8Yo30-6t0RHnYlfqsUWhyJkRQE6_O6ElnLpPu30yrbMLDm9G/s320/They+had+Me+in+Stitches.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-64530324226780644302016-01-21T13:41:00.001-08:002016-01-21T13:41:49.017-08:00Not So Super
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<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a mistake from the start. I know a lot of people say
that in hindsight, but this time, the whole story did start with a mistake.
Somehow, no one knows exactly how, my veteran online shopper mother screwed up
a Walmart order. Instead of having her Glucerna diabetic drink delivered to the
house, or to the Walmart we normally visit, she somehow instructed the
conglomerate that we would be willing to pick up the product from their
superstore in Rosemead, and that we would do so within a five-day time frame. <br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not such a big deal, right? So someone has to go out of
their way sometime during those five days and pick up the Glucerna. No problem.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Enter the complications.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Two of the five days were already passed by the
time Mom forwarded me the email requesting that we pick up her stuff.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>One of the remaining three days was Sunday,
which is out for errands such as this.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>The other two days were both days that Ducky was
going to be on the ski hill all day long. I would be the lone caregiver of our
girls.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Walmart won’t give the Glucerna to just anyone.
They will only give it to the person who ordered it, and only after checking
their photo ID.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I picked Saturday as the best day to head to Rosemead.
Saturday is an errand day anyway, and since we were headed to a Super Walmart,
I figured I could double up on the errands by adding the regular weekly grocery
shopping to the Glucerna pick up. Because I’m resourceful that way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />So we go through our Saturday. Ezri has basketball practice
and her Christian club meeting. I make the menu for the week and create the
grocery list. We wash the rat cages, tidy out the backpacks and the shoes that
somehow get trashed during the week. We visit the library to get new books to
read at night. We drop by the dollar store for some of our favorite lunchbox
assortments. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />We have lunch and then I try to get the children to take a
nap. This usually works with the little one. Ezri, admittedly, at six years
old, is getting too big for naps. I continue to try because that’s a chunk of
my afternoon that I really don’t want to give up yet. She stayed down for half
an hour before getting up and trying to talk me out of the coloring book I got
for Christmas. Her arguments were surprisingly valid. “But Mom, you don’t have
as much time to color as I do. I’ve never seen you color at all!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />All this means that we’ve had a pretty full day already, and
it’s about five o’clock in the evening before we even start getting in the car
for the Walmart trip. I’ve only visited the Rosemead Walmart once in my time in
California, and it was when I was still pregnant with Ezri, coming from an
entirely different direction. In other words, I have no idea where it is or how
to get there. Which wouldn’t be a problem either now that I’ve got a
smartphone, but coming home from Idaho after Christmas did some major damage to
our data plan, so Internet use outside the home is not quite but sort of
definitely forbidden until February. So I look up how to get there before we
leave the house. Looks pretty straightforward. Head east on Las Tunas, turn
left on Walnut Grove. Drive south for a thousand miles. Easy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />In a minor miracle, I only pinch my fingers twice while
wrestling Mom’s wheelchair into the trunk of my borrowed car. Why am I driving
a borrowed car? Because my real car has been with my mechanic, unable to start,
since the end of July. Last July. But that’s another whole vent unrelated to
this story. It carries another set of frustrations, not the least of which is
how the trunk on the borrowed car is smaller than the one I’m used to, and I
constantly bang or bruise my hands while getting Mom’s wheelchair / walker into
and out of it. I’d like to say I’m getting better at it, but really the only
improvement is that I manage to keep the swearing only in my head when it
happens. I’d work harder, but I keep thinking that maybe this time will be the
last time before my beloved Buick returns to me. How’s that for false hope?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Back to it, kids buckled, minor mishap when my mother
somehow can’t get her seatbelt buckled, so I throw a small daddy fit involving
some slamming car doors as I get out of my seatbelt, get out of my seat, wave
to the neighbor walking his dog, buckle my mother in, slam her door (which is
actually necessary for this vehicle if you want it to close properly) and then
reverse everything to get settled to go once again. One more tiny fit as I
realize halfway down the driveway that I’ve forgotten to lock the front door. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Since the children have been in the car for five whole
minutes before we even pull away from the house, we get about two blocks before
the questions start. “How much longer?” “When are we going to be there?” “Is
this where we’re going?” I take deep breaths like my yoga teacher taught me and
patiently answer the rotation of questions about five times through before I
start to snarl at my lovely daughters. Mature things like, “You’ve driven all
the way from Idaho in one day, surely, you can make it twenty minutes to the
store! Quiet down, when I park the car and get out of it, you’ll know that we’re
there, ok?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />All of this as I’m driving and looking at the street signs.
San Gabriel. Santa Anita. Baldwin. Rosemead. Blah blah blah, no Walnut Grove.
It’s getting dark. I worry that I won’t be able to tell I’m at my turn before
I’m already on top of it. We continue to drive and I grow more and more
convinced that I’ve passed it somehow. By the time we hit the turn off for the
San Gabriel Medical Center, I’m absolutely certain I’ve passed my turn. I pull
into a handicapped spot in the med center parking lot and pull out my phone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The children see it and chirp for it. “Can I play a game on
your phone?” Nope! I’m using it! I need it to tell us where to drive. I whisper
an apology to Ducky for the possible fee I may be incurring by figuring out
where I’m supposed to go. Then I spend the next five minutes trying to get my
phone to route us from my current location. It kept asking me to input a
starting point, which was messing me up. It wasn’t until I started typing San
Gabriel Medical Center that I saw the tiny little option “route from current
location.” I pushed it and saw that we still were 25 minutes away and I had
indeed passed the road I wanted. We set out again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />After some more traffic ridiculousness where I hate turning
left and the one part where I managed to turn at the wrong place and somehow
ended up in another parking lot where I could see where I needed to be but
couldn’t maneuver out of the labyrinth of speed bumps.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />At last, at long last, we get onto Walnut Grove and head the
right way. Just in time too because the chorus from the peanut gallery in the
back has changed from “I’m hot. Are we there yet?” to “Mom, I have to go to the
bathroom.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />It is 5:45 pm by the time we reach the Super Walmart, and I
see immediately that we have planned badly. The cars! The pedestrians! We, as
human beings, are the worst sort of herd animal ever. Plodding behind carts in
leopard print pants, clutching McCafes and oversized bags, heavy-lidded eyes
deliberately NOT looking at the cars coming, trusting stupidly that as a
pedestrian, those of us in cars will just wait for them to mosey along. I try
to get over it and not start this procedure by foaming at the mouth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I do eventually find us a parking spot, far away on Judea’s
plains. This isn’t something I mind, normally, but when the number of people
who need mobility help exceed the number of hands I have, then it becomes
tricky. We perform the ritual of releasing the children from their carseats and
forcing the wheelchair from the trunk. Fortunately, since the kids have been in
the car SO LONG, they are willing to walk all the way to the entrance. Not that
they would have had a choice in that, but it’s better when they are walking
without whining as though I’d asked them to cross the Serengeti with no water
or sunglasses. So I push Mom with Meridy’s help, and Ezri trots along beside
us. We DO look and wait for cars, memorize where I’d put the car so we can find
it again, and duck into the entrance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I remind Mom that since we’re getting groceries, I’m going
to need a cart and she’s going to have to propel herself through the store. She
knew this beforehand and has acknowledged that this whole trip wouldn’t be
happening without her online mishap so she’s quite compliant with the plan. I
try to find a spot to get out of the way while we figure out the place we need
to go to pick up online orders. I pull up the barcode we’re going to need on my
phone (what the heck, right? I mean, I’ve already used Google maps all the way
here) and spot the right place, naturally located as far away from us as
possible. We make our way, amoeba-like, through the store, past the writhing
miserable entity that is the customer service line, past the opposite entrance,
and into the little kiosk receptacle place with the sign indicating online service.
There is miraculously no line. There is also no one at the desk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Fortunately, someone pops out from a back room just as I’m
wheeling Mom into position. This portion of the trip is the bit with the least
amount of drama. The woman helps us pleasantly and quickly, checking Mom’s ID,
bringing out our Glucerna, bagging it, and even allowing my kids to pat her
skunk keychain for a bit. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think if
she’d been less cool, it might have put me in the right mindset to just get
back in the car and get our groceries at the usual place a block away from our
house. But no, she was great and gave me this false sense of security that the
worst was behind me, that we were here now and everything was going to be fine.
I relaxed, long enough to tell the children that yes, we could look at the
toys, but then my guard was right back up after the kiosk lady warned me nicely
that I should hide the wallet in my cart and that I should keep a very close
eye on my baby if I wanted her to come home with me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Now, if those aren’t the right words to say to get someone
to head right back home, I don’t know what would do it. But the kids still had
to go to the bathroom, conveniently placed by marketing behind the toys, and I
had already told them that we could look. Not to mention I didn’t really want
to get back in the car yet. I thanked our friend, stuffed my wallet down the
sleeve of Ezri’s coat, and we started all the way to the back of the store.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />My original plan had been to let Mom watch the girls in the
toy aisle while I did the rest of the shopping as quickly as possible, but the
caution about losing Meridy decided me against that. We were all going to look
at toys. This isn’t something I mind, honestly, except the part where I have to
say no to the requests to bring things home. The girls are generally good about
accepting this answer, but they will ask about Every. Single. Item. Even weird
stuff. Stuff I know they don’t like or want. It’s just a reflex thing to go
down the aisle and ask for everything on the off chance that This One might be
the one where Mom breaks down and says yes. (Ezri has actually confessed to me
that this is their plan.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />So they ooh and ahh over things, and I also enjoy a few
items that they’ve brought back from my own childhood. Hello Popples, nice
makeover! Hey, look, the Puppy Surprise hasn’t changed at all! Ezri and I have
a lengthy discussion about the one Baby Alive doll they have in the store. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />See, Ezri has become enamored with these videos on Youtube.
There’s a girl, Kelli, who has about seven Baby Alive dolls (she has way more
dolls than that, but Ezri likes watching the videos revolving around these
seven). Kelli makes videos of her family of dolls, and Ezri eats it up. In
fact, I think this weekend we’re going to be making our own doll videos (which
I admit is kind of up my alley too). Anyway! She’s never seen one in person and
went right over the moon about it. I looked at the price and went over the moon
too. And thus the discussion about how it is WAY too expensive (I refrained
from telling her that in addition to being too expensive, the entire Baby Alive
mold is the ugliest doll I have ever seen in my life – because that’s below the
belt for arguing with a six-year-old). I explained that I was not going to buy
it for her, but I would not prevent her from saving up her money that she gets
for chores to buy it herself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />This brought to her memory the $10 that Grandma Vivian had
given her for her birthday. Ten. Whole. Dollars. (Which is about 20% of what
she’d need for her Baby Alive doll, but who needs math when you’re six?) She
let the doll go, but started looking around for something that she could
afford. I followed her and worried that it was going to be something I really
didn’t want her to buy, but would have to agree to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Let’s back up so you can get my theory on letting her spend
her money as she likes even though I am the mom and I can say no. When I was
young, not sure how young exactly, but my dad was involved so I was younger
than 10. When I was young, there was something in a store once that I wanted to
purchase. I wanted to use my own money for it. I remember exactly what it was.
It was a Mapletown figurine. A baby mouse that came with some sort of basket
bed, blanket, and a bottle. It was tiny and flocked, adorable, and a whopping
$2.99. My father, for reasons of his own that were never explained to me and
which my mother cannot figure out, denied my request for this item. Flat out
refused to let me buy it with my own money. I believe this is the only time I
was ever taken out of a store for my behavior, but the point of the matter is
that I was not having a tantrum for something my father wouldn’t buy for me. I
wasn’t actually having a tantrum at all, but I was crying. Perhaps I’m
remembering incorrectly how loudly I was crying, but something made my father
take us out. I was completely distraught at the injustice that my father would
not allow me to spend my own money. This injustice has remained with me for
several decades now and it makes it very difficult for me to say no to my kids
when they want to use their funds, even if it’s for something I’d rather they
not buy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The girls keep looking (since Meridy also has $10 from
Grandma Vivian) and they choose something. Ezri picks a collapsible doll
playpen that stores nicely in a flowery pink zippered case. I like this choice.
She has many, many dolls, but not a crib and the fact that it folds up and
stores so nicely is a plus. I agree to her selection and let her know that it
will take all of the money Grandma gave her. She acknowledges that this is ok
with her as she really wants the crib. Fine. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Meridy picks out a wee Waterbaby mermaid, less than $10. I
double check them both. I ask them if they are sure. They are sure. I then
proclaim it’s time to get on with the grocery shopping. Content with their
treasures (they really don’t get to buy stuff often, and as we’ve discussed
before, I hardly EVER say yes to their requests for things), they are willing
to go with me without comment. I text Rich to let him know that we will be
bringing toys home because I let the girls spend their money. Instead of
lamenting that more stuff is coming into our house, he congratulates me on my
parenting. I’m encouraged.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />We then begin the grueling process of grocery shopping in a
store where we don’t know where anything is. I try to be slow about it, because
I only want to go through each aisle once. Meridy sits contentedly in the cart
with her baby, asking every now and again if I can remove her from the box.
Ezri is the real star of the show for this part. With her crib tucked on her
shoulder like a purse, she cheerfully went through every aisle and actually
pushed Mom’s wheelchair for me. I didn’t even know she was strong enough for
that, but it really helped a lot. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Just when the girls are starting to say they are starving,
we reach the end of the grocery list. I send Ezri and Mom to the McDonalds for
fries for everyone while Meridy and I very quickly race to the other end of the
store for toothpaste and shampoo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
we get in line. A very long line, like all the other lines at every single open
check out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Did I mention how many people were shopping with us?
Probably not, because they were legion. Masses everywhere, arms and carts and
purses everywhere you turn. Hordes and droves and swarms of people. The kind of
crowding that makes you want to sanitize your hands every two minutes and makes
your skin prickle. (might be just me, though). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />So it’s not surprising that there’s a huge bottleneck at the
checkouts. Since it’s not surprising, Meridy and I just chill in line for our
turn. She proudly puts her waterbaby on the belt first thing and watches it
anxiously as it crawls slowly toward the cashier, asking every once in a while
when she can have it back. I assure her that it won’t be long.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The cashier, Harry, who looks like he’s thirteen, picks up
the mermaid and scans it first. It makes a bad sound as it goes across his
scanner. A loud beep that is remarkably close to the buzzer they use in game
shows when someone gives a wrong answer. Harry frowns at the doll and scans it
again. Same sound. He looks at me and explains the beeping. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“It says the item isn’t found,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“What’s that mean?” I pressed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“It means the system can’t find the item.” NO?! Really? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I mean, what do we need to fix it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I, um, don’t really know.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Then Harry did this funny little dance where it was obvious
that he wasn’t allowed to leave his register, but he couldn’t get anyone’s
attention from behind it either. So he’d take a few steps away, stand on
tiptoe, glance around for someone to notice that he needed some help, then tuck
himself into the register again. Someone did notice us, said they’d send
someone for a price check, and he continued checking the rest of our stuff out
for us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Harry, bless his heart, is not a speedy cashier. I’m thinking
he may be sort of new to this (what with just turning the legal age of
employment last week or something), so the mobile employees, you know, ones not
babysitting a register, had plenty of time to walk back to the toy aisle and
get the price for him to put into his system. Except they don’t come. All our
items are scanned and bagged and in the cart and no one is there. Meridy asks
about her mermaid. I tell her to wait a few more minutes while we try to buy
it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Harry flags down another employee, one wearing a white
instead of a blue vest, a matronly type woman who looks like someone who has
worked at Walmart a long time. Someone who knows the ropes. He shows her the
mermaid and asks what to do if it can’t be found in the system.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Then she can’t have it,” the lady says, very simply in a
voice that indicates clearly that she does not appreciate lowly cashiers
talking to her. “It’s not for sale.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“It was on the shelf,” I protested. “That usually indicates
that it is for sale.” I’ve had something like this happen before at a different
Walmart, and the manager used a miscellaneous code, typed in the price, and
scanned it not as the item it was, but just as some random item that they were
going to sell to me. I suggested this course of action while the older woman
looked at me like I was speaking Klingon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Before I was finished, she threw up her hands and then made
this sweeping gesture that meant she was done with us and our problems. Then
she walked off. I looked at Harry. He looked at the floor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I’m sorry,” he said. Meridy started to cry. Not loudly.
Just the sort of tired, hungry, disappointed cry that we probably all feel like
engaging in when we’re standing in a long line at a Walmart. But she’s three
and can get away with it better. I might have let it go. I’m not usually the
sort to pick fights or anything, but that dismissive gesture really got to me
and I am actually prone to rage.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Call someone else,” I told Harry. He looked terrified, but
he did flag down another person and we explained the situation again. Paige
took the mermaid and said she would put it in the system. It would take about
fifteen minutes. I said ok and started off with my cart of groceries. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Meridy was upset, but I told her that we just had to wait a
little bit longer for the workers to sort out the issue. We met up with Mom and
Ezri, and we all went to the car. I put the wheelchair in the trunk, put
everyone in the car, and divided up the fries. Then I told Mom that I was going
back into the store for the mermaid. She asked why I was bothering, and I
honestly didn’t have a good answer. I locked them in the car and went back
inside. I dodged my way through the slow-moving shoppers, actually getting
whacked with a case of beer by a large, lumbering man who was taking up the
entire aisle with just himself and his swinging case of beer. I ducked and
darted my way back to the toys, found the mermaid, and took it back to the
front to try again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I stood in line, this time the speedy check out line. I
waited and waited for my turn, which was fine because it meant that way more
than fifteen minutes had elapsed since Paige had gone to fix the system. Yet
despite the time, the familiar buzz sounded when the new cashier scanned the
mermaid. “Item not found?” She said to herself, and I sighed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />We started over with the explanation of how I’d been in
before, how it wasn’t in the system, how Paige had gone to put it in the
system. We started another checkout dance with the whole taking a few steps
away to get someone’s attention thing. I offered to make a scene. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I could start yelling at you,” I told the cashier, and her
eyes got huge. “Nothing personal, of course because it’s not your fault. But if
you want someone’s attention over here in a hurry, I can make it happen for
you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Um,” she said (it was her favorite word with dealing with
me). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I’d be pretty easy,” I went on. “Like this” I raised my
voice “What’s taking so long? I just have one item!” She put up her hands to
shush me, but just that little bit was enough. Paige was back and looking at the
mermaid.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Were you here a little while ago?” She asked me. Yep, still
want this mermaid, thanks. It’s been fifteen minutes. She told me that no one
had been available to enter it, so if I wanted to wait, it would be fifteen to
twenty minutes. I impatiently informed her that it had already been fifteen
minutes when she’d told me that the last time. She took the mermaid and
disappeared again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I should have just walked out with it,” I told the cashier,
impressed that her eyes could get Even Bigger. “It’s not like you would have
known. It’s Not In Your System.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Then I stood by her bagging station, texting Rich, talking
to Mom who had her cellphone and was giving me updates on how she and the kids
were ranking on the Lord of the Flies scale in the car. I stared at the
cashier. I stared at everyone behind me in line, quickly and efficiently making
their purchases without incident. I got bored and mad. I pretended to call
Ducky so I could say out loud all the stuff I wanted to say. Not mature stuff.
Not nice stuff. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />When the man came through buying a huge bottle of whiskey
and a gift bag, I pretended to reach out for it as he was pocketing his wallet.
Like I’m not Mormon and pregnant. He laughed at me and left. The next guy was
an older man. I helped him put his bags in the cart in hopes that kindness
might reverse the horrible bad karma my impatience was bringing to me. He told
me I was very sweet. I tried to smile in a way that was actually a smile and
not so much baring my teeth. I bowed at the monk buying yogurt and bananas. He
wished me peace. And I waited and waited and waited, giving updates to the
cashier all the while. 18 minutes. Twenty minutes. She’s not coming back is
she?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Finally, in desperation to get rid of me, the cashier
pointed out another manager who happened to be walking by. I raced after her
and tried to remember that she knew nothing about any of my problems so I
shouldn’t take her out at the throat or anything if I wanted some help.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I flagged her down. She looked surprised and defensive, so I
tried to keep the crazy out of my voice. I explained the whole thing with the dumb
mermaid and suggested that if they had no intention of selling something then
it shouldn’t be on the shelf with a price tag on it. I told her about my
three-year-old who wanted to buy it with her own money that her grandma had
given her. I told her how long I’d been waiting for someone to help me and
about how that older woman had just brushed me off and how Paige kept saying
fifteen minutes and then walking away from me in the hopes that maybe I’d just
go away or something and didn’t she think that this was just ridiculous?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />She nodded as proper customer service representatives are
supposed to do. Then she asked me to follow her as she tracked down Paige,
practically ripped the doll out of her hands, had me come with her to a kiosk
where she told me in a confident way that she was going to check me out right
now. She pushed in some buttons for a MISCELLANEOUS ITEM, told me the new price
for the mermaid was now $3, and at last handed it to me. I thanked her, told
she was the most competent person in the store, and fled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I handed Meridy her mermaid, buckled the kids in, and we
finally left super Walmart at 9:40 pm, vowing never to return. My only comfort
is that Meridy has had the mermaid with her constantly since I snipped it from
its box. In the bath. In bed. With her all the time. I realize that’s only
going to last a few more days, but when you’re doing something ridiculous like
waiting around a Walmart to buy a toy, you take what you can get that you didn’t
completely waste your time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Even though it was totally a complete and utter waste of
time.</div>
Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-38961440654153983642015-04-30T14:45:00.001-07:002015-04-30T14:45:57.889-07:00Fundraising Request (and raffle)
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know you’re all here because you want to learn more about
winning a pair of handknit fingerless gloves, and I’m really jazzed to give you
all the details. However, me being me, I want to start off with a story. <br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once upon a time, I was a Girl Scout. Back in those days,
the wee girlies did not stand in front of your local Trader Joe’s selling
cookies with their parents. No, ma’am. They took their order sheets and pens
and went out into the town, door to door, repeating the same phrase over and
over, for hours after school. I did this as a solitary activity. It was often
snowing. It was always cold.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One particularly frosty day, as it was getting dark, I was
struggling with my motivation for selling cookies. I never sold many. I
disliked talking to strangers. I realized it was counterproductive to hope someone
wasn’t home when I knocked on the door. I knew that it didn’t help me much to
be relieved when no one answered. But I always hoped. I was often relieved. <br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But on this cold, windy day in a tiny town in Illinois, I
knocked on a door where someone was home. I took a deep breath, stared at the
icy patch on his front steps, and recited my plea for a purchase. Help us out,
sir? Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies? <br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He told me he was sorry, but he had already bought some. <br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tried not to cry on his freezing front porch, but as I
nodded, thanked him, and turned to go, it must have been extremely obvious on
my face how disheartened and disappointed I was about this unrewarding,
social-anxiety-inducing activity because he called me back.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You know what? I think I need
some more.” He then proceeded to buy TEN boxes of Thin Mints, the most I’d ever
sold to one person who wasn’t my mother. <br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I loved that man. I still cried on his steps, but it was
because I was so, so grateful. On May Day, I secretly put flowers on his porch.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why am I telling you this story? To let you know that this
kind of stuff is something I dislike, but I do it when I have to, and since I
am older, with access to better skills and more resources, I can do a little
better than leaving flowers on your front steps.<br /> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s the deal: My daughter, Ezri, is signed up with the
Kare Youth League. It’s fantastic. It’s all girls and young women. They do
sports together on Saturday mornings. The older girls mentor the younger ones.
Ezri is having so much fun with it, and it’s right by our house. Great stuff.
However, (you knew this was coming – I prepared you, but go ahead and a take a
deep breath anyway) they require fundraising as part of the program. Our quota
is to raise $75 in ticket sales.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tickets for what? Glad you asked. On June 6, that’s a
Saturday, from 4 – 8 pm, the Kare Youth League will be holding their annual
SoccerFest at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. All the leagues from the area will
gather and, get this – it’s awesome, play a soccer tournament On the Rose Bowl
Grass. What an opportunity!<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In addition to the games, there will be food and
performances and a large family carnival. There will be pony rides, a petting
zoo, and all those fun little games that you used to play when you were young
(fishing behind a curtain, spinning a wheel, knocking down the milk bottles,
you get the idea). We went to one of these carnivals before we really knew what
Kare Youth League was, and I remember it was lovely and the prizes for the
games were surprisingly good.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So here’s what I want from you:</b> Please help us out. Buy a
ticket. They are $5 each.<br /></div>
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<b>What’s in it for you:</b> You get admittance to the SoccerFest,
and you will be entered into a drawing to win a $1000 shopping spree to either
Wal-Mart or Sam’s Club. There is also a coupon for a free Subway sandwich and
30 oz drink attached to the bottom of the ticket stub. You will also be put
into my own personal drawing to win a pair of handknit fingerless gloves. <br /></div>
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<b>What if you don’t live here / are busy that day / don’t
really care about soccer / don’t want to ride a pony</b>: Good question. You can
still be entered into the $1000 shopping spree (you don't have to be present to win) and the fingerless glove drawing
by donating $5.<br /></div>
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<b>What if you really don’t want to buy a ticket, but you still
want a chance for the gloves:</b> For the glove raffle, I will put in your name one time for
every dollar that you donate regardless of a ticket purchase. So if you want
your name in once, you can donate $1, twice - $2, and so on and so forth. If
you buy tickets for your family of four, I’ll put your name in 20 times. Make
sense?<br /></div>
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<b>How do you enter?</b> Either find me in real life to buy tickets
from me, contact me by email or Facebook to set up a pick up / drop off, or if
you are far away, you may send funds via Paypal to duckies_in_a_rowATyahoo.com.
(I can mail your tickets to you easily.)<br /><br />
<br />
<b>Please include the following information. I have to put it on your entry:<br />
Name<br />
Address<br />
Phone Number<br />
Email</b></div>
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<br />
I will draw for the gloves on Memorial Day, May 25, and ship out the gloves on
Monday, June 15. Should we talk about the gloves some more? YES! We Should! Please get on with it! I’m
going to draw for THREE pairs of gloves this time, since I’m actually asking
for money for them. Not only that, you can pick from the ones below. Gentlemen,
I know that these are mostly women’s gloves. Keep in mind that commissioning a
pair as a gift for your honey goes a long way for you. Let’s check them out (please note that some of these are photos of gloves I've made before - others have been taken from online sources, and yes, I am using them without permission).</div>
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For those who like them functional, I give you the plainest pair of gloves in the land (you can pick the color, though). For the record, these are the only pair that I own:<br /></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2udQ0v9wv2hHBZQdwRiv3UzB9x3VynlQ5Bk7x9AGpU2W-xKk4HszE2IhyphenhyphenOPtBP1WL9CDKJVBzY_lJvpU7Om4H-6tiHWy_sFSp0nclAwCgay95sCb0G_dHI9tEChIkFFWQHP-MXOAgpU6e/s1600/black.jpg" height="240" width="320" /><br /><br /><br />How about cables? Everyone likes the elegance of cables.<br /><br />Evangelines (you choose color)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3C0_MQbGJfyGxSoX_-MKtvqwKmxnzOucBNBicQQ_jEg3DhPfBAkAc02-rLGB6co3DX9IPssud0g4Q92rdrXBFIAP6JLPBDuQWAzqiTajW2-wdzXF7JEx2J0e8qsAHZVcAcqZeqUf38E-/s1600/Evangeline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3C0_MQbGJfyGxSoX_-MKtvqwKmxnzOucBNBicQQ_jEg3DhPfBAkAc02-rLGB6co3DX9IPssud0g4Q92rdrXBFIAP6JLPBDuQWAzqiTajW2-wdzXF7JEx2J0e8qsAHZVcAcqZeqUf38E-/s1600/Evangeline.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />Staghorns (again with the color choice)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6ZMI10yH87V2mioC1qnOxGoT-P2saBKkV_IKS9QGK36brICCDYOXrOFLBufxaeUgm1SXEDOz-qOrKOVnpYyd2_z3qI8uIY-8kqh_MFY8G-rs-4lg8z7zfLZ4whCjcNVk7WEGj3cChIv5/s1600/Staghorns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6ZMI10yH87V2mioC1qnOxGoT-P2saBKkV_IKS9QGK36brICCDYOXrOFLBufxaeUgm1SXEDOz-qOrKOVnpYyd2_z3qI8uIY-8kqh_MFY8G-rs-4lg8z7zfLZ4whCjcNVk7WEGj3cChIv5/s1600/Staghorns.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />Skeleton Key (in your favorite color)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwabljAxDEcl26qqC5cWfrtP1eZTFk1AfEf7MXmzzp0JwA0nnIuCnfdHs2WULkJgbQ_NKZqtMVxvsshOBvADioskCfJPqOxnigHP8RfXSljNEtDahO2XAAQd-FWpJLylaEwKcZ0FDbvZdx/s1600/Skeleton+Key.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwabljAxDEcl26qqC5cWfrtP1eZTFk1AfEf7MXmzzp0JwA0nnIuCnfdHs2WULkJgbQ_NKZqtMVxvsshOBvADioskCfJPqOxnigHP8RfXSljNEtDahO2XAAQd-FWpJLylaEwKcZ0FDbvZdx/s1600/Skeleton+Key.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sapphire (and these ones are this color only)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZR90eeC73DW6JS-4QXatvDpC4CVTbOX_mKhvyN8flMFdH7i97AeoLm6ICIjW2JLuHfyBeqsrwxMHRWUDZG2MSOYXA2e1talMGxtFR45GmnU260PWReaUabw74UdPlIwzaVuj76HU9JFE/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Cable+Sapphire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZR90eeC73DW6JS-4QXatvDpC4CVTbOX_mKhvyN8flMFdH7i97AeoLm6ICIjW2JLuHfyBeqsrwxMHRWUDZG2MSOYXA2e1talMGxtFR45GmnU260PWReaUabw74UdPlIwzaVuj76HU9JFE/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Cable+Sapphire.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oak Grove (I suppose you could pick another color, but Why Would You?)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_D6Nm22uqEMwzw304RI_v9shxHyKOPtzyG-Ai7aiaIWKypgMO011ewvkrksJlXtiyW7Ss2e35MU99Doi-RZrW9_BsV__nXzE9pt9HfGhgum8n1zMvJRVgHyDEGzftyrO71KAc5w6gdfym/s1600/Oak+Grove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_D6Nm22uqEMwzw304RI_v9shxHyKOPtzyG-Ai7aiaIWKypgMO011ewvkrksJlXtiyW7Ss2e35MU99Doi-RZrW9_BsV__nXzE9pt9HfGhgum8n1zMvJRVgHyDEGzftyrO71KAc5w6gdfym/s1600/Oak+Grove.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />Waterbending (in whatever color the winner likes best)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqtvX0fd2iIzI6DzPDLW4dmsODcqGBX_GKhlotbWJxizoPaCAGW8Wh08wyxmLwi0ZmDPv3QNeRxv-pf9DOM5UR2mzEUH-9xI71qF8GiyVdDpeZ2vt3ztWgQy22d5AdsmeAi5RsOL1OWZE/s1600/Waterbending.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqtvX0fd2iIzI6DzPDLW4dmsODcqGBX_GKhlotbWJxizoPaCAGW8Wh08wyxmLwi0ZmDPv3QNeRxv-pf9DOM5UR2mzEUH-9xI71qF8GiyVdDpeZ2vt3ztWgQy22d5AdsmeAi5RsOL1OWZE/s1600/Waterbending.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>
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Where are my geeks? How about one of these charming designs?<br /><br />For the Lord of the Rings fans - I give you Evenstar Mitts (not in
purple, though, most likely a white or silver, or you know, whatever
color really)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSmYyAr1PxHFnKbfAyko20CklYvZRN-CsnqFGnaTLX-r_YQGQNMyY3esyc0GfAlbWU4KOw88T57wBtGNuwGxcE4FmqUF5j33xL6SHZzyTAhRnt-4Kzd9LWEAV24OmYoEn8_7FgWO_5dGg/s1600/Evenstar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSmYyAr1PxHFnKbfAyko20CklYvZRN-CsnqFGnaTLX-r_YQGQNMyY3esyc0GfAlbWU4KOw88T57wBtGNuwGxcE4FmqUF5j33xL6SHZzyTAhRnt-4Kzd9LWEAV24OmYoEn8_7FgWO_5dGg/s1600/Evenstar.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />For the literary minded, I give you Ravens in the Snow (in cream and black only)</div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfSuOiYqxtFkpX0VtAREhkQruwC04i_eXHU6xwlkgXwndyzzYqdHD_NzAA92DOSjFsUQYGMvwiWWVFrVY851g9pt4PtJtvLcYRwtu2RpfYe-dluYcAgtf0lm5-rcxdF8In47SnwmHJqIT/s1600/Attempted+Murder.jpg" height="320" width="247" /><br /><br /><br />And for my dear, dear Doctor Who fans, there are these mitts that the
sharp-eyed among you will recognize as replicas of the mitts Rose Tyler
wears in the episode Doomsday. In this color only<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXZiWx5v1zeLZDS6hHjoXI5APMUNAOqoRKR5629l81qtMEczaC2mR_1hPlM-_rf404595FME3xafGLBXREag5ojLTCltoTwDrimfL_LJjOfnc1KsiaNwU9QavTRq2D_2bnDEtubo_Bc2t/s1600/Doomsday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXZiWx5v1zeLZDS6hHjoXI5APMUNAOqoRKR5629l81qtMEczaC2mR_1hPlM-_rf404595FME3xafGLBXREag5ojLTCltoTwDrimfL_LJjOfnc1KsiaNwU9QavTRq2D_2bnDEtubo_Bc2t/s1600/Doomsday.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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<br /><br />This pattern is called Zombie Vixen, for when you want to take out corpses in style and warmth (you pick the color)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOUPJya0g6hlGSawCMQI5dqpe8BDdquhsOSU06_e6i2CPFLQyGgeTuhpAvUvHgMoOvgX4uCicejRh7Gni8NwjGmtVkzjWnzGLuHkCEdx8oazdsU-2rV2_1ts4NDBrU8pWRsG8ZOG9w32P/s1600/Zombie+Vixen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOUPJya0g6hlGSawCMQI5dqpe8BDdquhsOSU06_e6i2CPFLQyGgeTuhpAvUvHgMoOvgX4uCicejRh7Gni8NwjGmtVkzjWnzGLuHkCEdx8oazdsU-2rV2_1ts4NDBrU8pWRsG8ZOG9w32P/s1600/Zombie+Vixen.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And these Helix mitts will be perfect for your steam punk costume. Or your Tshirt. Color scheme of your choice</div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheJn9l50P71UdAbjxV9T6j8xVzfyjs2XJbfwSZ1e7WZi0YvAHcYM3HmpupMxzMaTnEV2CDFR12UAJTacaGbybCI6Bu3YCeQqCPRJjtOCSNewDfveNPen01PWux82fMjIywB5EMJzOtX1bp/s1600/Helix.jpg" height="320" width="320" /><br /><br /><br />How about something whimsical? These will do the trick.<br /><br /> Catching Butterflies (they don't have to be blue)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMurPfzyvSeOLplhT4SGx8m1IosPt6CMz9lNEAY9YwWKO0uw9-H10i3XC5Cc27jUV48f97A-7wRJsZPht5W2RRtpXSw7XKGkPInDv3evLUFzzHX6s8uP6v6s1SA-PQEDxymkvLSSOsZoq/s1600/Catching+Butterflies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMurPfzyvSeOLplhT4SGx8m1IosPt6CMz9lNEAY9YwWKO0uw9-H10i3XC5Cc27jUV48f97A-7wRJsZPht5W2RRtpXSw7XKGkPInDv3evLUFzzHX6s8uP6v6s1SA-PQEDxymkvLSSOsZoq/s1600/Catching+Butterflies.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />Woodsy Association - your choice of deer, owl, wolf, badger, or raccoon. Those are the colors for them, though.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii7T7dIkr62HuGjfZ_9nXH4_ptgjJOJLNDeJ1gwiJFErtEG2Nw2JypLQoSpSbKpAsK8faa7y1iH1hog7Dvt5IdX9LHvoiAYe9FU2lqEzlibR99k5FnOhjOwHBOUz5Xnq0NuUl9BnqB9zAl/s1600/Woodsy+Association.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii7T7dIkr62HuGjfZ_9nXH4_ptgjJOJLNDeJ1gwiJFErtEG2Nw2JypLQoSpSbKpAsK8faa7y1iH1hog7Dvt5IdX9LHvoiAYe9FU2lqEzlibR99k5FnOhjOwHBOUz5Xnq0NuUl9BnqB9zAl/s1600/Woodsy+Association.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /><br /><br />I hear you - you're not into that. You want something more appropriate for a grown up. Something you can feel sophisticated wrapping around your Starbucks cup. I've got you covered too:<br /><br />Button cuffs are super stylish (this colorway only)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3r3eb00gSbD9bLsWZuFqSIS30xcelGbCYRrSttpMDfJC4PMJpq_BDmACAU_TC0DKcTcAsvXb0AcVZ4lQ39uc22Of3RxmBrlXndLlWDplHMkeL4hkAwPl1edlNfy73c9M5ALvk2-OrTWEz/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Buttons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3r3eb00gSbD9bLsWZuFqSIS30xcelGbCYRrSttpMDfJC4PMJpq_BDmACAU_TC0DKcTcAsvXb0AcVZ4lQ39uc22Of3RxmBrlXndLlWDplHMkeL4hkAwPl1edlNfy73c9M5ALvk2-OrTWEz/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Buttons.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fair Isle - always in style! (again, only this color - I have a kit, you see)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWY80RoPLhqFcIwB2-MD13xWJxq9v0MeDbfCY6It_T9I2vyyuKJii859UTwn0uV7cAmnCmiUwZkTElGrcAVybBoLaOzL9oWR_AHcvolCUqmsPDyzuirTJHHs_LBUwVMc0OosAvqaGiQi0p/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Fair+Isle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWY80RoPLhqFcIwB2-MD13xWJxq9v0MeDbfCY6It_T9I2vyyuKJii859UTwn0uV7cAmnCmiUwZkTElGrcAVybBoLaOzL9oWR_AHcvolCUqmsPDyzuirTJHHs_LBUwVMc0OosAvqaGiQi0p/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Fair+Isle.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />What better to cup your Pumpkin Latte than a pair of pumpkin lace mitts? (this color only)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtTgstV5gLPuz7e_xzAMBkPESi9QZPZERrazrjcQ0eCB_gHmvnznAW8h-aA0njzXXg3Jg1-4jCaaW-hs0VdZ2isT6fjUyzQ0ausxLI3ScbVo9tb8JGx6ZMtnPDAu4a3S0NDNBdYk3oQh6/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Pumpkin+lace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtTgstV5gLPuz7e_xzAMBkPESi9QZPZERrazrjcQ0eCB_gHmvnznAW8h-aA0njzXXg3Jg1-4jCaaW-hs0VdZ2isT6fjUyzQ0ausxLI3ScbVo9tb8JGx6ZMtnPDAu4a3S0NDNBdYk3oQh6/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Pumpkin+lace.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
<br />
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<br />And for all my pretty, fancy princesses, here are a couple options:<br /><br />Twin Leaf lace for your next tea party (you can pick the color this time)<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_86b5uih9mA-eGrbWlcK1z1SRwaPxHT3mHhfSWfMU_wLkFfGq7FdAP_0hAjuE-T7U8Tr5MH_Uvq_hknF8uKbNldqMAECVagd4ciV1kkLNFZlyYMDw_Do7rOwoZBX66Kq8WRiCdiN2YRK/s1600/Twin+Leaf.jpg" height="319" width="320" /><br /><br /><br />Ruffle Cuffs to wear at the piano recital (only in these colors, though)</div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTApiY2oDS_6INCP8fNoHVzCT6A-WALxlFuMYkiBHX0W1y31217pP_k2pdcLieRAA10ZofSbal-q72M8OAo-ExYqhnhScTTd82e5wb7_c8123Xr3CR4cX7RrMwb0ato-3s5c41MV3fI7WZ/s1600/Finishing+Touches+Ruffle+Cuff.jpg" height="320" width="256" /> </div>
<br />
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<br />Don't worry, men, there are some options for you as well. In addition to the plain black pair (how could you go wrong?) there are these:<br /><br /><br /> Straight Forward Mitts - probably a more masculine color (unless you like this color; it's all the same to me)<br /><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LiSsqoWKzEQCFPgQ5TqTLp3lYM0mkLW_qV46DtT5hfoC-IftDrCy3H7nHsAHG-kAWZfxEhyS_x4xyNV0f7BdqBcSCD4cy3xBcgqVicsFyb3YbtDySEc6VryoyODqTmIffMXNM4ijyVMD/s1600/Straightforward.jpg" height="240" width="320" /> <br /><br /><br />Loch Lomond - in whatever color you think would work for you.</div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGVzaMkemi7rYt0FinWjWl2zo_avlS1CJR8hAB-Zj7Zo_rF9EKIMCMyzxzbfW5ig5WHV6mQlOTLcD4C3ObFPffqqMCHAOgxID6eiRnH0uDTSLQD_iQ29qf0tS4Yqr7blc0vGm71sfEzbw/s1600/Loch+Lomond.jpg" /><br /><br /></div>
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Whew, that's a lot of options. But you've got some time to think about which ones you'd want, and in what color if applicable, before the drawing on Memorial Day. Thanks for your help with our fundraiser. It really means a
lot to me. If anyone has any questions, please, please do let me know either
via comment or message. I don’t want anyone confused!</div>
Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-12385120744455365222015-01-09T16:26:00.000-08:002015-01-09T16:26:18.312-08:00Runner Five
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, I’m a
runner. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Oh! Sorry -
I should have warned those who went to high school with me that I was going to
start with a joke like that so they would have known not to take a sip of
coffee right then. Yeah, sorry about making you spit it all over your monitor –
shall we try again? Ok, put the beverage down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I admit, the
running is new, and I’m actually more of a brisk walker / jogger than a runner.
Before I got pregnant the first time, I attended a gym regularly and had
started in the running thing – my personal best being 2.6 miles at 4.5 miles
per hour. I think the first time I ran my first mile straight (in like fifteen
minutes), I went around to everyone in the gym and made them give me a high
five. But two babies, fifty pounds, and a little over four years later, I’d
definitely lost any ability or drive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Enter my mother who showed me a coupon for a 5k race close to my house. She
wasn’t horribly out of the blue; I was four months into a weight-loss journey
to gain at least my pre-pregnancy body back if not better, but even considering
that, she showed me the email without any sincerity. I laughed at it with her
until stuff started resonating in that tiny little piece of my spirit that
contains anything like ambition.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was a
Pumpkin themed 5k the first week of October. I love pumpkins. I adore October. There
would be a Tshirt – with a pumpkin on it. There would be a medal for those
finishing the race – also with a pumpkin on it. I wouldn’t have to drive far to
participate. Walkers were welcome. And with the attached coupon, the
registration price was cheaper than a delivered pizza. I spontaneously decided
that I could definitely walk 3.1 miles and paying that price for a Tshirt and a
medal (did I mention the pumpkins?) would be an experience I was willing to
have. I registered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And I meant
to walk, really, but since it was early summer it crossed my mind that I could
maybe try to at least jog. Right? Would I really be ok wearing that shirt or
that medal without even really trying? I googled a 5k running schedule and that
was the first time I learned of the existence of Zombies Run.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I watched
the trailer, read a bit about it, and wanted it more than I have ever wanted
anything close to a video game in my life. How motivating would that be to
train for a 5k while running away from zombies! Unfortunately, I did not at
that time own any kind of device that would support the app. I trained for my
pumpkin 5k with the Couch-to-5k (C25K) schedule, which is also very good, and
worked well enough that I did indeed run the entire 5k to earn my Tshirt and
medal, but there was a significant lack of zombies in my life that I felt
deeply.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Small
surprise that last Christmas, upon receiving my first smart phone, the first
thing I did after adding some music was download the Zombies, Run app. There is
also a Zombies 5k app, but since I had kept up my running after my first race,
that seemed like not enough for my level (oops, sorry, maybe just refrain from
drinking until you’re done reading, eh?). I was ready for the main app, and now
that I’ve done a few different things on it, I’d like to pass on my review to
those not sure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Why on earth
are you not sure? It’s like reading a story, engaging in a role-play, real-life
video game, and getting your exercise all in one! What’s not to like? Buy it!
Buy it now! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
What? Not
convinced? Fine - Here we go. Reasons to purchase the <a href="https://www.zombiesrungame.com/" target="_blank">Zombies, Run app</a>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>British accents. I didn’t realize, but this is a
UK-run app. With a bit of Scottish peppered on top. Because the only thing
better than pretending to outrun zombies is having someone British shouting
encouragement to you to outrun zombies.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>It’s a story. Yeah! A continuous story with over
120 missions. Reoccurring characters, bits of drama. Stuff to make you think
while you’re running to take your mind off of how much it sucks to be running.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>It works with your playlist. Depending on how
long you set your mission length (30 minutes or 60) a bit of mission
transmission will play, then one or two songs from your playlist, then another
transmission. Or you can choose not to have any music at all.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Once you are done with the mission
transmissions, but aren’t necessarily finished with your run, an imaginary
radio station picks up to keep going with your playlist as long as you like.
Well, maybe it does have limitations, but I haven’t exhausted them yet. (Don’t
run that long.)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>It works on a treadmill or with GPS –
versatility is good for those of us who might not want to go any farther than
our backyard some nights while we’re being a single parent.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>You don’t have to run. You can still get out and
exercise while doing missions with this app at a walk. Your pace, your level,
no problem.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>It has oodles of options. Mission length,
playlist selection, GPS or accelerometer, do you want zombie chase enabled or
not. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>It has the option of an “Air Drop” mission for
those with GPS devices. Pick a spot on a map, a real map, like if I wanted to run
to the library and back. You can pick if you want it to be a one-way or return
mission and the app will build an adventure around your chosen distance. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>There are race options – 2 each for a 5k, 10k,
and 20k (I think). I haven’t done these yet, but I’m sure they are awesome.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Did
I mention the zombie chase? If you have GPS on, every once in a while a little
voice pops up that says, “Zombies – 100 meters” and that means you have to
increase your pace by at least 10% for 60 seconds to avoid being caught. Or you
can turn it off if that freaks you out.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>You
can’t actually die in the game (no starting over!). If the zombies are too
close (you get caught), you drop some of the supplies you’re carrying to
distract them and get yourself away. While it’s no fun to lose your hard-earned
supplies, at least you aren’t dead.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>This
app keeps track of all your statistics. It has run logs so you can see what
happened on every run you did (where were your fast points, your average speed,
how far did you go, how many calories did you burn, check your route out on the
map). It also keeps track of total stats – how many total miles (or kilometers
if you prefer) you’ve done playing the game, how many calories, how many hours
have you been running, how many zombies have you avoided, how many sports bras
have you brought in to help Abel township. What was your fastest ever time?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Have
I talked about Abel township yet? No? It’s the imaginary base where you live
with your still-human survivors. As you run, you aren’t only avoiding zombies
but you collect things to bring back to the base – batteries, tins of food,
clothes, pain meds, whatever. When you are done with your run, you can sync
your app to ZombieLink, a website that also keeps stats. With the supplies you
collect, you can improve Abel by updating defenses, constructing new buildings,
all of which increase your township’s population, safety, and morale. You’re a
hero!</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Also
on the website are a collection of achievements to unlock. Tons of them, and
they are all cleverly named. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>You
can go back and rerun any episode you like, or play them out of order.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">16.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>You
can also, once you’ve unlocked a sound bit in a mission, you can go online and
play it again, individually. Which is good for kids like me who are all, “hey
wait, what did they say?”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">17.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Sam
Yao. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Is there a
downside to this app? Maybe. Here are two (that’s it, could only think of two).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>It crashes. I’ve only had it happen once, and it
was because someone called my phone in the middle of my run twice within a
60-second window. It crashed my app. I’ve heard of other people having similar
problems. I was extremely disappointed. I’d had such a great run; I was almost
finished, and I didn’t get to hear the very end of the mission. On the up side
– the run did appear in my stats page so it wasn’t a total loss and the
likelihood of that happening again is very minimal.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Price.
The initial $3.99 purchase will get you three of the six races, season one,
access to airdrop missions, and I think seven episodes of season two. After
that, if you want to continue (Of course you do!), the remaining episodes and
races are available for additional purchase. I believe that a full access pass
to everything (initial app and ALL the seasons) is about $20. But hang on a
second. Let’s put this into proper perspective. Think about all that stuff this
app can do. Stats, missions, storyline, GPS tracking, interval training,
playlist maintenance – all of that stuff, plus we’re talking about hours and
hours and hours of missions here (and I hear they are making a Season 4, so
there’s more to come!) for the price of ONE workout DVD. Hmm. If you’re like
me, and if you’re reading my blog I suspect that might be so, I bet you have
one dusty workout DVD on your shelf / in your closet that cost more than this
app and was way less satisfying.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So there you
go. Zombies, Run – super fun. I find my runs, even on the treadmill, extremely
less tedious, and I look forward to hearing what’s going on in the story next.
Incredibly motivating all around. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And it made
me a runner. Runner Five!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://blog.zombiesrungame.com/post/107607765604/raise-the-gates" target="_blank">Raise the gates.</a> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-15469898132609826122014-09-02T10:28:00.001-07:002014-09-02T10:28:39.194-07:00The Day I Hiked Mount Wilson
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<div class="MsoNormal">
So every now and again, I get these ideas. Epic ideas. Ideas
that will take a whole lot of determination and dedication if I’m going to
accomplish them. I do it often. Like, hey, why don’t I knit this crazy
intricate shawl in one month? Or oooh, wouldn’t it be great if I stayed up all
night and watched every single movie that Miyazaki ever made? My current
personal favorite is that whole dumb thing where I signed up to run a 5k. (Who
let me do that?)<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now these epic ideas are usually set up for me to fail. If
you add up the total run time for all those movies, it would take more than a
single night to watch them. Even if I put in three knitting hours a day (a true
luxury), the shawl would not be complete in my allotted days. You see? I set
myself up for failure. All The Time. It’s like a disease.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seven weeks ago, my husband took my children to Idaho, and
stayed there. I’ve been without them for days and days, and I knew what would
happen. Suddenly given all the time in the world, I would wander aimlessly
around my house thinking gleefully that I could do whatever I wanted . . . but
then come up short on what that actually was, and suddenly it would be time for
them to come home again and I would have done nothing. I cannot waste an
opportunity like this!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />So I made a spreadsheet. It’s a thing of beauty, all
categorized into columns with spiffy labels like “Housework,” “Exercise,”
“Crafting,” and my favorite, “Social activities.” I made a spreadsheet that
would require me to not be a hermit reveling in my solitude. See that? I’m a
planner, though an incredibly ambitious one. There’s more stuff on that
spreadsheet than I could ever finish in seven weeks, and now that I am days
away from getting my family back, I’m slowly letting the unfinished stuff go. I
had a good run; I did a whole bunch of stuff on that spreadsheet and then a
little extra that I didn’t plan for.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />One of the spreadsheet items was to go on a hike every
Saturday as part of this new idea I have of not being obese anymore (so sick of
that, but at least that plan doesn’t seem to be failing). My first week, I went
up the Mount Wilson trail to Orchard Camp and couldn’t have been happier with
myself, until it dawned on me that before my hiking time ran out, I wanted to
get to the top of Mount Wilson. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />And there we go again. Doomed to FAIL.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I am not a strong hiker, nor a fast one. The Sierra Madre
Search and Rescue team requires its initiates to get to Orchard Camp in 90
minutes wearing a 40-pound pack as they go. My first time, with less than five
pounds, it took me 180 minutes (yeah, DOUBLE). Now the hike to Orchard Camp is brutal, no
mistake, but I was being passed by people RUNNING up it. Like, they do it for
fun. Running. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I started obsessing about getting to the top. What was up
there? I’d heard there was an awesome telescope or two, a hot dog stand, and a
view to die for. I had to see it. I had to do it, and I had to get up there
before my family came home, because when Ducky is here, he’s the one who gets
to run up mountains while I take care of children. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />For the next few weeks, I continued doing yoga. I started
training for the 5k. I hiked, many times to Orchard Camp, and just couldn’t get
any further. Once you hit the ruins at the camp there is a sign with an arrow
pointing to the trail that would take you to the top. That trail is Straight
UP, and every single time, I would look at it, get a kink in my neck, start to
get a little dizzy, and finally I would tap the sign (that’s what the cool kids
do, I saw them), and make my way back. Not enough water. Not enough energy. Not
enough time. Just . . .no. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />But Mount Wilson is HUGE, and the trail through Orchard Camp
isn’t the only one that will get you up there. So I planned another tactic,
here on my last day, my last chance. I was ready to fail, really, but I wanted
to see what the trail up there would be like if I started on the other side.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I woke up this morning later than I’d like. I always plan to
be on the trail by seven in the morning, but that’s actually when I woke up. I
carefully filled my water bottles that I was bringing with me, 1.5 liters
worth. I packed 500 calories worth of Clif energy bars (I hear you. Ugh, Karin,
those taste like cardboard. Yes, they do, but you’re eating them wrong. Scramble
up 3.5 miles of steepness before you open one. After that, I assure you, they
taste like heaven). I laced up my boots and smeared on some sunscreen. I put my
phone in my pocket just so I’d have some sort of clock (no service where I was
headed), and forgot my ID and my credit card. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Chantry Flats is twenty minutes north of my house. I drove
the windy road, sang some songs, tried to make peace that this was my last
hike, and I should enjoy it and not stress over where I go or how far or high. As
I got closer, I passed bicycles manned by those poor souls who are bigger
masochists than I am slogging up the hill. I passed those other poor souls who
weren’t there early and had to park alongside the mountain since the spaces in
the actual lot are usually full before seven. I’m extremely fortunate. I have
Ducky’s truck with a yellow sticker in the back, which means I can move this
orange cone and park in the ranger lot. Useful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I park and stick a mint in my mouth; it’s a special mint,
smaller than a watch battery. It will take about three hours to dissolve, and I
love them for hikes. They keep your mouth wet; they make your water taste
colder than it actually is, and they help you avoid getting a ball of mud at
the back of your throat from panting up all that dust. Great mints. I lock the
truck, clip on my daypack, and start down the trail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Along with half the population of the state who also thought
it would be a great idea to go on a hike for Labor Day. There are the usual
groups. The really buff guy with his girlfriend who absolutely did not wear the
right shoes. The Asians in their groups of three (two men, one woman, and she
always has bandanas all over her head and face). The young couple who brought
their tiny dog, which the man is carrying. The large group of teenagers, and
that one guy who is so extreme that he not only is running down the trail
wearing nothing but shorts – he’s doing it with a punching sack thrown over his
shoulder (I’m not kidding.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I queue up with them, and we make our way down Cardiac Hill.
Normally, I do the loop the other way and come up, so this is sort of new. It’s
steep. Very, very steep, and goes on forever. It is not lost on me that in
order to hike up this mountain, first I have to march a quarter mile DOWN into
a canyon. Oh well. Things even out after the bridge at Robert’s Camp, and then
the ascent begins. Gently. There’s a wide trail and lots of shady canopy. There
are cabins, really quaint little places where no one lives. One of them is
named for Tom Bombadil and I find that so charming that I want to hop over the
fence and knock, just in case. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Most of the multitude is headed toward Sturtevant Waterfall,
an easy, family-friendly hike. Not me, though. I pull off at the Mount Wilson
turn off, noticing immediately that I have a problem. There’s an upper trail
and a lower trail up the mountain, one going left and the other going right.
Fortunately, there’s a gatekeeper – who was actually just some random hiker who
happened to be resting at the junction. He looked the sort that had probably
been on at least one of the trails before, so I asked him which one he’d
recommend. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“They’re the same distance,” he said immediately, which I
had already gathered from the sign. But then he went on to say that the lower
trail had more shade, and that’s all I really needed to hear. I thanked him and
headed right. Or I should say UP in a right-ish direction. The trail went
alongside the Sturtevant one, just higher, and I may or may not have hummed
Loch Lomond as I went along (You know? You take the high road and I’ll take the
low road? I mean, why wouldn’t you? It’s practically required.) Before too
long, I found myself standing at the top of the falls, or what’s left of the
falls since we’re very, very much in a drought. The falls are more of a
trickle, mossy, sad, with so many people standing in the few inches of water at
the bottom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The trail there is difficult, rocky, narrow. Super narrow.
Like “why don’t they have a rope to hold onto here” kind of narrow. Imagine
yourself on a skyscraper, outside on the window ledge, except the window ledge
is rock and it slopes outward. That’s the trail right here over the falls. I
crept over it very carefully as I had no desire to ruin everyone’s day by
falling to my death (can you imagine!). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The rocks continued, but the narrowness didn’t. Which is a
very good thing because as I made my way into the beautiful shady area where
the upper pools feed the waterfall, a helicopter came by. The search and rescue
helicopter. I heard it coming, very close. I wondered what it was doing there,
but then I saw what it was doing to the landscape. All the debris on the sides
of that trail lifted up, pulled into the copter’s wake and coming right at me. My
husband has spoken of this, how the wind from the blades will fling everything
around, but I’d never experienced it before. I put my back to the gale and
hugged the rock, feeling the back of my neck and legs get pelted with stray
leaves and sticks. The helicopter flew off, and I started again, headed the
opposite way. Another hiker came down a few minutes later wondering what had
happened. I just pointed at the helicopter and went on my way, wanting to be
somewhere else should it make another pass. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Things got a little boring after that (because I know you
were just so captivated before). There were no more people. The trail kept
going up. I hit a sign indicating that Spruce Grove was a mile and a quarter
further on. I tried to remember if I’d seen that in my research of where I was
going (I’m terribly ambitious, but I’m not ridiculous. I may fail often, and I
still may have to turn back, but not because I don’t know where I’m going). No
more horses were allowed on the trail after that sign. More steepness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I took a water break and let a family pass me. Four of them.
All of them beautiful, tanned creatures with muscular legs and trekking poles.
I most certainly did not want them behind me. They marched past, talking,
laughing, not even breathing hard. I panted against a tree for another minute
until I couldn’t see them anymore before continuing up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />A few minutes later, I passed a father and his young son
coming down. They both had large backpacks, and it was clear that they were on
their way home from a father / son camping trip at Spruce Grove. The dad asked
me where I was going. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Mount Wilson,” I answered promptly, innocently. He sized me
up and down and got this look on his face. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Yeah?” He said, incredulously, and I wanted to smack him.
“Well, uh, that’s . . .” he looked behind him at the steep trail ahead of me.
“Quite a ways in.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I’ve got all day,” I said, moving around them. “And no one
will care if I have to turn around.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“That’s probably what will happen,” he said, also moving on.
It made me furious. I know what he saw when he looked me up and down. A frumpy
overweight mother of two in a really, really large white T-shirt, a dorky hip
pack, and a sloppy pony-tail. I know what I look like. If I make it or don’t,
what’s it to you? This is my body. I LIVE IN IT. I know what it can do, and
when I push it some, most of the time I’m surprised what it’s capable of. And I
take offence when men who are older and heavier than I am decide to judge my
ability to hike. I may not be fast. I may not be strong. But I decide if I can
or can’t, when I give up, if I’m going to give up. There is no need for you to
comment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I was so angry about it that I almost made it all the way to
Spruce Grove campsite on just rage. Might have done it too, if the helicopter
hadn’t come back. By this time, I figured that they were searching for someone
who had probably failed to return the previous evening. I wasn’t on a ledge,
thank goodness. I was standing in a wide space full of trees. The copter came
down close, so incredibly close I could see the man hanging out the side
looking. I turned away from him and tried to radiate that I was not the droid
they were looking for. They gained some altitude and passed on, and I braced
myself for what they were trailing behind them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The WIND! The NOISE! Pulling at my clothes, ripping at my
hair, dirt trying to get into my eyes even though they were tightly closed and
I pushed my sunglasses against my face. Then something rammed me in the
shoulder and took me to my knees. I cowered, waiting for it to be over. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Things settled, leaving behind this strange delicious scent,
which I guess is what it smells like when you rip a bunch of leaves off the
trees all at once. I stood up and turned to orient myself in the direction I
was supposed to be going. At my feet, right there at my feet, was an enormous
branch, ripped off its tree by the helicopter. That’s what had clipped my
shoulder; that’s what brought me to the ground. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I hit the ground again, on my knees, putting my hands on the
branch. It was so big. Right There. The jagged, broken edge had just barely
clipped my shoulder on the way down. It didn’t even hurt anymore. If I’d been
one more step up, it would have fallen right on my head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />You bet I prayed. You don’t get your life saved like that
and not say thank you. Nor do you get up again without extending an invitation
that, since something divine came to be with you in that moment, why not stick
around? Enjoy the scenery from under the trees?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I passed through Spruce Grove, where there were many campers
in untouched tents. No disastrous windstorm for them. I kept my head down and
marched through, coming to another sign not too far after.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />This! This sign. This is where I made my mistake. I had a
choice. Go left 2.75 miles to reach Hoegees Camp or go straight up for 3 miles
for Mount Wilson. Well. It was practically the same, you know, except for that
elevation thing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had taken the left
trail, I would have hiked across the mountain pretty much back to where I’d
started. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />But I didn’t. I went up into a surreal spot of the trail.
You could see the trail, little yellow brick road as it were, winding up
through all these trees. Usually the trail has mountain on one side and a drop
off on the other. This had slopes, sort of, and rocks, and a lot of open
ground. So open; it was weird. And it was steep. I started taking smaller
steps, mountaineering steps. I panted. My mint was gone. Step, breathe, step,
try to gather some spit together so you can swallow, step, swallow? Nope, step.
My left ear got blocked with the gunk that was building up in the back of my
throat. Step again. Why didn’t I bring another mint? Because the one thing I
was certain would drive me absolutely nuts while hiking would be to hear those
mints rattling around in the bottle the whole way. I know; there are about a
million ways to get around that particular problem, but the one I chose had
deprived me of mints for two thirds of the hike. It just wasn’t my day for good
choices.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I pulled to the side of the trail because over the sound of
my own pulse, I could also hear someone behind me, and from the sounds of it,
they were moving faster than I was. Much to my surprise, it was the Gazelle
family AGAIN. I’m not sure where I passed them, but it must have happened. They
weren’t talking and laughing anymore. The mother, tiny little thing, was
actually panting too. I felt a little better that it wasn’t just hard for me. They
passed, plus one more guy I hadn’t seen before, and I was back to being my only
company. Well, me and the squirrels.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The squirrels are gorgeous, did I mention? They are a bluish
silvery grey with the fluffiest tails ever. They make the squirrels at Caltech
look like scrawny little rats. This open spot was their playground, chattering,
chasing. One of the games seemed to be how close they could get to me before
freaking out and running up the nearest tree. I had a lot of time to watch
them, what with my progress being So Slow. I stopped a few times, thinking back
to what I had read of the trail. The last mile or so is horrible, I remembered
reading. But the switchbacks really help.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Switchbacks. Switchbacks? I looked behind me. I looked ahead
of me. I wasn’t near any switchbacks. That meant I wasn’t even close. I thought
of going back to that sign, the one for Hoegees, but my water supply stopped
me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />It’s like when we would go snowmobiling to Flag Ranch in
Idaho. First, you call ahead to make sure the gas station is open. If it is,
you can go. But there is a point on the trail where you cannot turn around,
because you will run out of fuel before you make it back to your vehicle, and
that would be very, very bad. After you hit this point, you have to continue in
order to put gas in that snowmobile. Then you can return. That’s where I was
with my water. I knew at the top I could refill my bottles. I knew I wouldn’t
have much fun heading back with what I had left. It was only upward for me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I’d probably gone back and forth on a few switchbacks before
I realized what they were. Hey, didn’t I just make a turn a little bit ago?
Yeah, there’s the trail under me, oh, but ahead of me, where did the trail go?
Ah, there, up and around – oh wait – Switchbacks! Horaay!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I hated them about three more turns in. I tried to think of
other things, but you actually kind of need to concentrate. The open bit was
behind me – it was back to mountain on one side and incredibly steep drop off
on the other. Up and turn, up and turn the other way, one more turn, oh look a
lizard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Lizards are plentiful on these trails. You don’t really see
them until you’re right on top of them, and then they freak you out by
skittering away from under your boots. Some of them get to be quite large (by
large, I mean, six inches long or so without the tail). I love when they try to
run away from me by running the direction I’m going. It takes them so long to
veer off, and I like to watch them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I couldn’t see much of this lizard, except that it was big
and strange. I paused to look at it, on the side of the trail, wondering why it
looked like that, not like the other lizards. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Then it made a noise. You know the one. Not the hissing
noise that geckos make sometimes. This was more of a rattle. Yeah. I think my
heart sort of stopped about then.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I started backing down the trail as slowly and smoothly as
possible. The rattlesnake went quiet, and then did me the extreme honor of
coming out into the open, draping all three feet of itself across the trail. It
was beautiful, but I couldn’t really appreciate it until later. While I watched
it, very still, hands at my chest, tears running down my face (yes, I cried,
shut up), all I could really think about was how very, very far away I was from
anything, and how terribly long it had been since I had seen another human. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Fortunately, the snake had zero interest in me once I was
out of its red zone. It slipped across the trail, so quiet, moving so well it
was like someone was pulling it across on a string, keeping its rattle tail up
as it went. I watched it go, waiting until it was far enough off the trail that
I could put some distance between us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The adrenaline from that encounter had me flying up the next
five or so switchbacks like I was running across a parking lot. Too bad they
weren’t the last five. I found one last sign indicating I had 1.4 miles left to
the top, and I laughed. 1.4 miles? Ha! That’s nothing!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Let’s just say that the last 1.4 miles to the summit of Mt.
Wilson are every bit of something. I think 80% of the elevation gain of the
trail happens in that last 1.4 miles. I had to stop, frequently, but I did
notice that it was sunnier up here. That while the trees I was walking past
still towered over me, nothing was towering over them. Then I walked out into a
patch of sun and the view became clear, spreading out and down in overwhelming
majesty. (Yes, majesty. It was breathtaking. Literally, I had to sit down
again. That view made me dizzy and just shy of hyperventilation.) There were
other peaks, but they weren’t above me. Below, so so far below, I could see the
Santa Anita racetrack. The freeway. For a girl raised at sea level, it’s really
something to find yourself that high (it’s sort of weird to be surprised, I
mean, I had been climbing upwards for, like, four hours straight). I stared
with my mouth open until the height started making me sick. I tucked my
attention back on the trail, remembering that there’s probably a very good
reason I’m only five foot five and why on earth had I wanted to come up here
anyway?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />More switchbacks and rests later, I finally staggered to the
summit. Where I was promptly disappointed. It was a parking lot. A huge tangled
mess of radio antennas and cables and towers. There was a tiny museum, and two
large observatories labeled 100-inch telescope and 60-inch telescope. I did not
go in to look at them. I limped instead to the most attractive thing I could
find – a water fountain. Two little girls beat me there, getting themselves a
drink. Their parents, little brother, and an old woman I assume was their
grandmother followed them. They went over the bridge to look at the telescope
while I filled my bottles. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />More people came – old people, dressed nicely, carrying huge
cameras. Tiny people in summer dresses with lovely ribbons in their hair,
running over the bridge because when you are three that bridge is big time fun.
Old Asian men who should really be using a cane but for whatever reason they
choose not to, walking the way they do, tiny little steps, hands behind their
back, slightly hunched over. No one had a pack. No one was covered in
helicopter dirt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously no one I saw
had hiked up here. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I went a little further, breaking eye contact with anyone I
found staring at me (everybody). Up ahead there was a café with even more
little families out for the holiday, drinking iced tea, eating hot dogs and
cherry pie with ice cream. I meandered around, looking at the map because I did
not want to go back down the way I’d come, but I wasn’t quite sure where the
other trailhead was. Little dogs came to sniff my boots as their owners pulled
them away from me. Two very stately gentlemen eyed me up and down, and I wanted
to jump up on one of the picnic tables and yell at them all that I had NOT
driven up here. I had CLIMBED. There was a rattlesnake! There was a tree
branch! Stop looking at me like that – I earned my place. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I refrained. Instead I meandered to the parking lot, where
the trailhead was supposed to be. I could not find it, and I wasted so much
time just going around and around, getting frustrated, passing people, pacing
around the lot. Finally, three teenage boys took pity on me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Ma’am,” one of them said, and they circled me. “Did you
lose your car? Where’d you park? The other lot, maybe?” I bet I looked pretty
wild when I met his eyes; he actually took a step back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I parked my car at Chantry Flats,” I said, not snappishly,
but rather on the firm side. I swept my hand toward the south. “Seven miles
down the mountain.” That made them all sort of straighten, their eyes getting
big.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Damn, lady,” one of them muttered. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“I’m looking for the Mount Wilson trailhead; do any of you
know where that is?” They didn’t. I thanked them and paced some more.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Thing is, I could see it; the trail. Well, I could see where
it went meandering off into the distance, but I could not see how I was
supposed to (safely) get on it. There were some safety cones and big “do not
enter” signs where I thought the most likely place was, and after way too many
passes back and forth at that spot, I mentally squared my shoulders and headed
that way. Basically, I got down on my stomach and dropped onto the trail. And
then, then I started down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />For the first long while, I worried. This bit is where most
people get lost, and honestly, I did not have the energy to do something like
that. But I was going down, so at least that was good. The trail widened into
more of a road, forking sometimes with no sign to indicate which fork would be
the one I wanted. It took me a while, but I eventually realized that these
forks weren’t really forks. They were also switchbacks, but for whatever
reason, enough people had cut down them a different way (shortcuts) as to make
it seem as though there were two paths. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I went alone, but at least I had full water bottles. There
were tons of rocks; I could hear an eagle crying somewhere. It was
disorienting. Before I got properly afraid, I stumbled on a sign that was
almost too old to make out. Chantry Flats, it said, via Upper Winter Creek trail,
5.5 miles with an arrow pointing down. I said another little thank you prayer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Of all the muscles in your legs, fourteen are dedicated to
helping you move up a hill or stairs. Fourteen muscles so you can compete with
gravity and move away from the earth. So how many do you think help you come
down?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />TWO!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The next two and a half miles were a startling sort of
agony. I descended along another switchbacked trail so much steeper than the
first one. The turns were less than twenty feet apart. I counted. I moved back
into the shade, but I noticed that the light was hazy, the kind that filters
through the trees and leaves little dust spotlights all over. I was losing the
light. I tried to guess what time it was, but it did me little good. I had a
finite number of steps left, and I needed to get them behind me before dark. I
had not brought a flashlight, or really about seven of the ten essential things
that you are supposed to bring with you on a hike (pocketknife, flint and
steel, first aid kit, whistle, some ID to identify the broken remains of my body, none of that – worst boy scout ever!). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t thought of it, honestly, because I
had never been on a hike this long. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Along the sides of the trail, poison oak covered practically
everything. At least it had the decency to be already dressed for autumn in
gorgeous shades of reddish pink. It made finding resting spots difficult,
though. By this point, I was just moving without thinking, sort of like how you
drive sometimes and suddenly you’re there and you can’t really remember getting
there? I’d tune out, then stumble and wake myself back up. I leaned against the
trees. I paused at the corners of the switchbacks to curl around myself, hands
pushing against my knees. At one point, I just flat out flopped down in the
middle of the trail – why not? It wasn’t like anyone was coming. It wasn’t like
I was going to be in the way. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I passed only one other soul during this time, a man about
my age, with ginger hair in a ponytail and a beard; he was running up as I was
limping down. I made a fuss over him. “Wow, another person!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Little sparse up there?” He asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“Post-apocalyptic kind of solitude, so be very careful.” We
passed each other, but then he called down to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />“HEY! Are you all right? Do you need any food? I have some.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I thanked him, but I still had one Clif bar in my bag; I was
definitely not hungry, and I was only halfway through my water. The only
problem with me was the distance still left to the bottom. He went on, and,
because I had no other choice, so did I.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The trees grew closer together; the switchbacks lengthened,
evened out a bit. I saw little buildings with private property signs stuck to
their sides. I started to hope. At last I hit the junction I was looking for –
the one that meant that I was definitely not lost, that I had been going the
right way this whole time. The junction for Hoegees camp. I could go right to
Hoegees and then head back up Cardiac Hill, or I could go left on the Upper
Winter Creek trail and end up right next to my truck. 3 miles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I stood at the junction and turned a full circle, just
wishing there was someone there who I could celebrate with. I Knew Where I WAS!
I’d been here before! This is a hike I’ve already done, more than once.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />The thought of going up Cardiac Hill made me sort of throw
up in my mouth a little bit, so I opted for winter creek. The incline was much
more gentle, even though it was farther. I had to go up hill a bit, but after
all the down, it felt better (for a little while). But at this point, really,
nothing felt good. I could feel the grit from the helicopter dust caked in my
neck, itchy and irritating. My ankles were going to break any step; I was
certain, and I sort of wished that I had wrapped my knees. My shoulder ached
where the tree branch hit it, as did my lower back. I stopped so many times,
wishing that I had someone hiking with me, someone stronger than me, like my
husband. Someone who could shift my focus onto something other than how there
were still three miles left to go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I was still far from it when I could finally see the parking
lot. There were two fire trucks there, and I saw the bright orange search and
rescue van heading back down to the station. For one tiny second, I really
hoped that someone had come looking for me. Not that I really needed it, but
after being alone that long, not quite sure if you’re even headed in the right
direction, it would have been nice to know that someone was looking. (They
weren’t.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />But just seeing it, being close enough to hear the fire
trucks’ engines running, hearing someone’s dog barking, was good enough. I
don’t know how I did it, but I definitely picked up my pace. I zipped around
the corners of the mountain until, at last, I hit the road. Three more corners,
past the picnic area, past the trash cans, past the orange cone, and into my
truck. I slammed on the air conditioner and took a long drink from one of my
bottles. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />And then, after I stopped moving, after I knew that I was
done moving, that’s when the pain really hit. If all the nerves in my legs were
violin strings, it would be as though someone were grabbing them all at once,
pulling them as much as they could, and then letting them go to jangle in
horrid screeches. Over and over and over. I curled up on the seat until it had
died down enough so I thought I wouldn’t be a danger if I drove. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />Twenty minutes to my house, and I sobbed the whole way. Because
it hurt. Because that was such a long, long hike (15 miles!). It took nine
hours. Here I’d finally done it. I made a big, ambitious plan and followed
through. I proved that dad walking out of Spruce Grove with his son wrong about
my abilities. But I wasn’t crying because I was proud of myself. I was crying
because that was so stupid! It was too far; and I shouldn’t have gone without
at least one other person. I shouldn’t have gone at all! I should have stayed
home and scrubbed my bathroom, mowed my lawn. Knit a sock.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I came home to a quiet house. No one’s home. I posted that
I’d made it back safe, but that’s just not enough. So I wrote this because it
was an adventure. I really thought I’d feel more triumphant if I managed to
accomplish this. But no. I’m just limping around, sort of empty; it’s strange. But
I do know a few things.<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was not on that hike alone, for which I am
grateful, and I will never, ever do it again.</span>
Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-67914092652668022912014-04-29T15:12:00.002-07:002014-04-29T15:36:22.878-07:00Welcome to Caltech<br />
So my niece sent us a drawing of herself with the instruction to take her to our places of employment and show her around. My actual job is kind of dull, but the people I work with are all sorts of interesting. So interesting in fact that whenever anyone comes for a visit and we're thinking of things we want them to experience while they are here, a visit to Caltech is in the top three (there is also a turtle / koi pond on the grounds - it's not all microscopes and bacteria around here). <br />
<br />
<br />
Here's what Danyelle saw when she came to visit.<br />
<br />
<br />
Behold the impressive Broad center, where science is happening.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVcZxn4hRvOTHBmdpNSXVIwz9dbfBqQjdzsfZLe-n4xtNmQPvzCfxf6SI1RLc7lR_elpyK_fJaL428jLhW3kZw1ACV0F6ojfWjTEwzaTKkRD732WUbBULhDuEn39v5MeT-1HBhJgX6G-j/s1600/DSC00796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVcZxn4hRvOTHBmdpNSXVIwz9dbfBqQjdzsfZLe-n4xtNmQPvzCfxf6SI1RLc7lR_elpyK_fJaL428jLhW3kZw1ACV0F6ojfWjTEwzaTKkRD732WUbBULhDuEn39v5MeT-1HBhJgX6G-j/s1600/DSC00796.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Science is fun and interesting, but the first thing you need to do before you enter a lab is learn about lab safety! Always wear proper shoes, clothes, and sometimes even goggles and lab coats. Also, know where the first aid kit is and know how to use the emergency shower station in case you spill something on yourself that you need to wash off in a hurry.<br />
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<br />
Our biology lab specializes in taking the best pictures in the world of some of the smallest living organisms. Some of our favorite things to take pictures of are <i>Caulobacter crescentus</i> bacteria (a cousin of <i>e. coli</i>), <i>mycoplasma pneumoniae</i> (the bug that causes pneumonia), and the HIV virus.<br />
<br />
Before we can take pictures, first we have to grow our bacteria in tubes. You can grow bacteria in just about anything. We use liquid solutions called media. Some of our solutions even have gold added to them! It only takes a few hours for bacteria to grow, so you can start a solution in the morning and take pictures of it after lunch! Once you have a nice group of cells to image, you need to place them on a slide or a grid so they can go into the microscope. Our lab uses both - a wet slide for light microscopy (the kind you're probably used to)<br />
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or a copper grid to put into our special, big electron microscope.<br />
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<br />
Since a drop of media can contain thousands and thousands of bacteria to take pictures of, we only need a tiny bit for each slide or grid. To help us, we use a special tool to pipette small amounts. It works just the same as a straw.<br />
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<br />
When your grids all have bacteria on them, it's time to take them to the basement where the electron microscope has its own special room to help protect it from movement and sound. Because when you're taking pictures of very small things, it helps to be as still as possible.<br />
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r<br />
<br />
Taking pictures of things with an electron microscope is tricky because when you beam electrons on your bacteria, it makes them fall apart after a short time. And trying to figure out the structure of a bacteria after it falls apart is like trying to figure out how a watch works by looking at one that's been smashed by a hammer! Right, not very helpful. Scientists try to get around this issue by mixing their samples with special chemicals, embedding them in plastic, or freezing them. <br />
<br />
Our lab uses a method called plunge freezing to create our samples. We use a machine called a Vitrobot to freeze our bacteria. Freezing protects the bacteria from the electrons and keeps them looking almost exactly the same as when they were swimming around in the media, but you have to freeze your samples very, very quickly in order to create clear, see-through ice. Freezing things too slowly will create crystals, and crystals will make for bad images just like having static on your television set will disrupt the picture. We drop our bacteria grids in a mixture of liquid nitrogen and ethane so they freeze instantly.<br />
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After they are frozen, the grids have to stay frozen solid. If they warm up even a little bit, the ice can make crystals. So we put the frozen grids in a cryo-holder (it's like a thermos filled with liquid nitrogen) until they are ready to put in the microscope.<br />
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The next step is to put the grid into the vacuum of the microscope and take your images. Our microscope is hooked to a series of computers that save the pictures you take. We also do a special technique called a tilt-series where you take a whole bunch of pictures of one bacterium at different angles.<br />
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After you take all the pictures you want to, the last step is to analyze your data - or look closely at the pictures you took. For a tilt-series, this last step is called reconstruction. It's where you take all the pictures and stack them on top of each other to create what we call a tomogram. Remember that gold we put into the solution? Under the microscope, that gold shows up as large black beads that we can use as markers when we are stacking images. This gives us a complete 3-dimensional image of our bacterium - a real break-through for seeing new things and figuring out how things work!<br />
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Here's an example of how a tomogram is put together to form a 3D picture and how it helps us learn about bacteria cells.<br />
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<a href="http://lab.jensengroup.org/movies/JMB2010HnSmall.mp4">http://lab.jensengroup.org/movies/JMB2010HnSmall.mp4</a><br />
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Thanks for taking a trip to our microscopy lab at Caltech today. I hope you learned a lot!Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-70793394136233717152014-04-08T10:33:00.000-07:002014-04-08T10:52:25.794-07:00Happy Anniversary - 100 Random Facts about my HusbandToday is our ninth anniversary, and in honor of that, I'm posting 100 Facts About my daring and darling husband, Richard. He's a cutie and I love him completely.
<br /><br />100 Random Facts About My Husband
<br /><br />1. He has two emotions that he recognizes – anger and calm.
<br />2. He has a complete lack of empathy, but he has come a long way and knows when to ask for clues.
<br />3. He has way too many hobbies: shooting, camping, skiing, snowmobiling, horseback riding, wrestling, reading, hiking, gardening, water sports, rock climbing, fishing, on
and on.
<br />4. He started working when he was thirteen and hasn’t stopped since.
<br />5. He had a febrile seizure when he was two and was officially dead when he arrived at the hospital. (Obviously, he came back, but wow, good job psyching out your mother.)<br />
6. He is so afraid of spiders that even talking about one will break him out in goose pimples.
<br />7. He hates tomatoes so much that he doesn’t even want ketchup on the table.
<br />8. He served a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City and gets teased for this a lot.
<br />9. He was born in Waycross, Georgia.
<br />10. His best companion for fourteen years was a yellow lab, Husky mix named Cocoa.
<br />11. He is a professional driver and is licensed to drive anything with wheels except an airplane and a passenger bus.
<br />12. His greatest wish is to live off the grid in Alaska or Montana.
<br />13. He used to watch the Man from Snowy River every single day.
<br />14. He loves instrumental music.
<br />15. He cannot spell, but he can write beautifully.
<br />16. He reads quickly and devours thriller books by the dozen.
<br />17. He loves to have his back scratched and isn’t quite satisfied until he is bleeding in more than one place.
<br />18. He does not know his own strength or realize his own worth.
<br />19. He gets loopy on medication. Once, when hospitalized for a kidney stone, while I was buttoning up his pajama top and telling him I was going to go get the car, he informed me that he was not going anywhere with me because his wife was coming to get him. When I left the room and came back, he told me that he knew I was coming and that “someone” wanted him to go somewhere. He claims I should just be grateful he knew he was married.
<br />20. He is protective and loyal.
<br />21. He is slow to make decisions, needing to do extensive research about brands, read reviews, etc. even if he’s just purchasing a toaster.
<br />22. He loves to haggle and make deals.
<br />23. He has a very fine hat collection and loves to dress up in old-fashioned clothes.
<br />24. He is part Cherokee Indian.
<br />25. He has an accent. People often think he is European and ask me where he’s from. I have to explain constantly that he is the result of a Georgia born father and a Montana raised mother.
<br />26. When he talks to, listens to, or watches people with a Southern accent, he will adopt it for hours.
<br />27. He hates people to baby him when he’s sick and would rather be left totally alone.
<br />28. He once killed and ate a robin while he was roughing it in the wilderness. He does not recommend it.
<br />29. He is pragmatic – just like MacGyver.
<br />30. Before we were married, he would disappear into the wilderness quite often for weeks at a time just to be alone.
<br />31. When I met him, he had forty-two girls’ numbers in his cell phone who all wanted to be his girlfriend.
<br />32. He tried to pretend that he didn’t like me, even to himself.
<br />33. He got slightly misty-eyed on our wedding day, but he only sheds tears on the days when I bring one of his children into the world.
<br />34. He never does things in halves.
<br />35. He is charismatic. People do things for him that they wouldn’t do for anyone else.
<br />36. He has a permanent retainer on his front top and bottom teeth.
<br />37. On our first date, he took me to the mall and bought me $120 worth of classy clothes because he liked to see me in them and he had been saving up to do it for months.
<br />38. He is a member of the National Ski Patrol.
<br />39. He once filmed for a movie while skiing backwards down a mountain.
<br />40. The sight of blood does not bother him in the least – or anything else gory for that matter.
<br />41. An aptitude testing center told him that the best job he could have would be a fighter pilot.
<br />42. He can exert 160 pounds of pressure by bringing his non-dominant hand into a fist.
<br />43. He does not hold still while he sleeps.
<br />44. He hates doing dishes, and hates it even more when dishes are left in the sink to soak.
<br />45. His favorite season is winter, but he lives in a state that doesn’t have one.
<br />46. He has perfect pitch. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. Perfect Pitch.
<br />47. Richard has been the sound editor for lots of movies, but none of them are ones you would know about.
<br />48. Richard has also been a voice actor for the anime series Ah My Buddha. He voices the principal of the high school along with a few other minor characters. How did he
get the job? He was just there at the right minute.
<br />49. He has broken most of his fingers.
<br />50. He’s also broken his foot and has trouble with certain shoes. Probably because he didn’t use the crutches as long as he was supposed to.
<br />51. When riding his horse, she threw him into a tree, and he rode her around for another two hours with cracked ribs.
<br />52. When I met him, the calluses on his hands were so thick that it was hard for him to feel how hot or cold something was.
<br />53. He can grow a pretty awesome beard and mustache.
<br />54. He never misses a shot with his .45 rifle.
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55. He would rather be an hour early than a minute late.
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56. The first of my birthdays we celebrated as friends, he took me out for a Jamba Juice and then we went back to his place to drywall his basement.
<br />57. He had a “testing routine” for all his would-be girlfriends to see if they would be worth the effort of building a relationship with. I passed.
<br />58. His nickname is Ducky and even his mother calls him that.
<br />59. He tries every summer to consume his own body weight in fried squash.
<br />60. If unsupervised, he will drink a gallon of whole milk every day.
<br />61. He does not play video games or computer games.
<br />62. I had to make a hard argument for him to buy a cell phone. <br />
63. He is left-handed.
<br />64. He tells people that he’s six feet tall, but he’s not. He’s 5 feet 11.5 inches.<br />
65. He’s a tease. An incessant one.
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66. He loves to read colonial American writing. The syntax and passion really move him.
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67. He loves James Bond movies.
<br />68. He can fix absolutely anything. <br />
69. He likes to vacuum (which is good, because I don’t).
<br />70. He is so secure in his masculinity that he doesn’t have trouble tossing feminine products into his cart while whistling, and he owns a pink phone.
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71. That man can rock the color red so hard it’s difficult to take him out without him getting fawned over by every female we see. I’m surprised he hasn’t been kidnapped.
<br />72. People are usually slightly surprised to discover that he married someone like me. What can I say? Opposites attract!
It's because he is good at bringing out the best in people and working with their strengths. He's a good leader, but he doesn't like it.<br />73. He has a faulty sense of relative time, mostly in the realm of goals. At one time in our marriage, he really thought he could put up a fence around our six-acre lot in
a weekend.
<br />74. There are a lot of days where he’s working so hard that he forgets to eat. This drives me insane.
<br />75. He can play the harmonica.
<br />76. He was once mistaken in an LA restaurant for Quenton Tarantino.
<br />77. He’s also been mistaken, on more than one occasion, for Johnny Depp.
<br />78. He is a volunteer on the world-famous Sierra Madre Search and Rescue team. He loves it.
<br />79. He takes interest in my interest. I can give him a Knit Picks catalogue and not say a word to him. He can then flip through it, and in ninety seconds, say things like,
“You’d love to make that. And that in a different color. You like that but would never knit it. That’s a no. You’d love to have some of that, but you know you have too much already.” And his commentary will be one hundred percent accurate.
<br />80. Every time I say I can’t do something because I don’t know how, he’ll return, “But you can LEARN!”
<br />81. When startled, his response is to attack. I learned this the hard way early on and have never, ever tried to shock him or scare him since. (He went for my windpipe.)
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82. Even though he served a mission, he mysteriously does not know how to cook. Though he can grill barbecued chicken legs like nobody’s business.
<br />83. His idea of cooking is to put parsley . . . in everything.
<br />84. Every once in a while, I will come home to a candlelit bath, storm soundtrack, and darkness while he takes the kids away and comes home with dinner. I love these days,
and I love that they don’t happen often enough to not be special.
<br />85. He likes to kidnap me for our anniversary. He’s spirited me away to Las Vegas and San Diego. Once we crashed someone’s ballroom dancing group dressed to the nines. The
group were so thrilled that they rearranged their whole schedule to cater to us.
<br />86. He’s actually quite good at listening, but he looks like he isn’t paying any attention at all. <br />
87. He looks like he isn’t paying attention because he is one of those rare people who can think three steps ahead and focus on more than one thing at a time.
<br />88. His fast thinking means that when I spell things for him, three letters at a time, in a rhythm, it grates his nerves. He doesn’t want the rhythm. He wants me to just
give him the letters. Reversely, when he spells things for me or tells me phone numbers, I have to have him repeat it several times because he goes too fast. <br />
89. He is an amateur ham radio operator (and made me get my license too). He gets a kick out of messing with his radio. His call sign is KK6EJJ.
<br />90. He’s so intelligent that he knows exactly how to be incompetent enough to get me to do things for him.
<br />91. But he will change diapers. I think we’ve changed equal numbers.
<br />92. We are not equal on number of baths we’ve given the children. He almost always gives them their baths.
<br />93. He doesn’t know what to do with newborns, and while he loves our kids very much, he enjoys them more when they can interact with him.
<br />94. He is fearless. He can jump off cliffs, out of helicopters, and even (get this) give speeches in public without getting nervous. He’s not set up the way other people
are.
<br />95. He’s not very good at relaxing. He prefers movement and learning and doing something.
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96. However, he will watch youtube videos for hours at a time if you get him going on something (i.e. pranking).
<br />97. He is devoted. I have never once worried, ever, that he was bored with me or wanted someone else. And for someone with low self-esteem like me, that’s really saying something about his fidelity.
<br />98. He has a hard time with closed-minded people, false people, or arrogance.
<br />99. If he promises something and shakes your hand, that’s a blood oath, and he will be true to his word, no matter what.
<br />100. He really is my favorite. Always.
I love you, darling. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBjewLRQAQts92WCLph0L_OoF_hhnusPwFTgfi7LgcPtuSUcujWm7FbkqxI06kj5vbqTSHn8krfVdWoeOz8XJQwV21lWFpHrkqSo5B5bfxXqlbCBJLWIcfzN7vB-89g5DLbenWsoVrNo_/s1600/IMG_3832.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBjewLRQAQts92WCLph0L_OoF_hhnusPwFTgfi7LgcPtuSUcujWm7FbkqxI06kj5vbqTSHn8krfVdWoeOz8XJQwV21lWFpHrkqSo5B5bfxXqlbCBJLWIcfzN7vB-89g5DLbenWsoVrNo_/s320/IMG_3832.JPG" /></a>Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-45283266520250706952012-12-31T12:05:00.000-08:002012-12-31T12:06:48.545-08:00Adventures in SewingIt comes as a big shock to most people. Just like when I have to explain time and again that just because I am an English major, it does not mean that I am a teacher (really, why is that the only thing an English major can do?), I also have to explain that just because I am a knitter, it does not mean that I know how to sew.<br />
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It’s remarkable how many people don’t understand the difference between these things. Thinking I can sew just because I knit is rather like thinking I can speak Italian just because I took Spanish in high school. Similar, sure, but just because some of the words are the same in both languages and you might be able to understand a smattering doesn’t mean you can just write a novella in Italian. You know?<br />
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In fact, I’m rather against sewing. Maybe because everyone thinks I should be good at it, but I honestly don’t like it. I like knitting – no, I love knitting. I love the simple movements and the endless variety of yarn. I love how portable it is. How I can haul off and quit in the middle of a row if I want to. I don’t need to lug around much equipment. A little skein of sock yarn and a long circular needle, easily tucked into a bag, are all I need for hours and hours of entertainment.<br />
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Sewing, on the other hand, isn’t like that. There are too many steps requiring too many pieces. You need pattern pieces, pins, a huge machine, different threads, etc. And probably the biggest obstacle to my wanting to ever do it – you need a workspace. That machine has to go somewhere, be plugged in, and then there is the space you need to lay out fabric so you can cut it. You can’t curl up on the couch with your sewing like you can with your shawl. I can knit a sleeve without even looking at it. You don’t look at your sewing and you’re likely to put the needle through your finger.<br />
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So I don’t sew. Why have more than one expensive hobby, right? But no good story ever started "once upon a time there was a knitter who did nothing to further her skills" so we have a different beginning that started a little before Thanksgiving when I took my daughters to an Elves’ Fair at a Waldorf School. It was so charming; we had so much fun, right up until it started pouring in the early afternoon. Lots of people went home, but my girls and I went into the doll room.<br />
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I instantly regretted my decision. The room was filled with long tables covered in gauze and silks and miniature benches made from branches and twine. Fortunately, as it was later in the day, most of the dolls were gone, purchased by other fair goers. Yet there were a few remaining. Ezri gravitated immediately to a bunting style doll wearing a purple cotton velour nightgown and cap. He had a dark brown face. She picked him up and carried him around the room even though he weighed more than three pounds (weighted down with lavender-scented millet). She even marched up to one of the workers in the doll room and asked, very politely, “Excuse me, can I have this please?”<br />
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I caught the worker’s eye and shook my head, but she knelt down next to my daughter and said, “You should ask your mom.” Thanks!
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Ezri trotted back over to me and showed me the doll, again asking if she could have it. Now, when I had seen children wandering the fair grounds with dolls all day, I had a moment where I considered getting her one. I’m all about handmade stuff (see above about the knitting), and her birthday was coming up soon. But then I looked at the price tag on this little bunting and had to change my mind. It was priced just right for a lovely, organic, hand-sewn item, but unfortunately, it was a little too high for my budget. So then I told my sweet girl that this particular doll would have to stay here in the doll room and take a nap, but I thought that we could make another one that would live with her.
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She accepted this with an amount of grace that other girls much older than her do not have and put the doll away, kissing him goodnight. Then she went around to all the other bunting dolls (there were three left) and kissed all of them too. And then we went home.
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When I told Rich about our adventure to the Elves’ Fair, he asked me how I was going to make a replica doll of the one she had found. I responded that I was hoping to maybe get one second-hand from the Internet. That I had seen other <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waldorf_doll">Waldorf dolls</a> on ebay for $12 - $30, much closer to my chosen price range. We started a research session, seeing immediately that a heavy bunting baby like the one Ezri loved wasn’t available on ebay. In fact, I couldn’t even find the same Waldorf bunting doll that she had looked at. It didn’t look good.
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As we were clicking around in despair, I finally managed to find an image just like the doll we had snuggled earlier. I showed Rich what we had been looking at, and then we noticed that this doll was available in a kit from <a href="http://www.dreampixie.com/">Dream Pixie</a>. We really could make our own and at a price that I could get away with. I asked Rich if his mother would be willing to help me as she is a fabulous seamstress and I am. .in case you missed it before. . . a KNITTER. We chatted about it, and in the end I purchased two doll kits – one purple like the one Ezri had and the other a raspberry.
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The kits showed up at my house looking beautiful. The fabric was folded neatly and resting on a cloud of carded sheep’s wool. When I had been researching these dolls, I wasn’t exactly put-off by all the talk of natural materials, but it wasn’t a big selling point either. I mean, I’ve made hundreds of toys and stuffed them with the widely available, cheap polyester fiberfill. I never thought twice about it. But just LOOK at the Difference!
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271810900/" title="IMG_4400 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4400" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8357/8271810900_06a91f435b.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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See? See how pretty the wool is? And it smells divine and even had little tiny pieces of plants still stuck in it. Being the lover of sheep and wool that I am, how could I not be charmed by that? I let Ezri see the kits and asked her which color she liked best. As predicted, she picked the purple. We both cuddled the bags, basking in their perfect potential, and then I tucked them into a closet to wait for my mother-in-law to come at Christmas to help me with them.
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Except I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I looked up tutorials on the Internet and read the instructions about twenty times in the next few days. It didn’t look that hard. The directions were straightforward; there was nothing extraordinarily tricky about what they were asking me to do to get a sweet dolly. I’d made so many dolls before, painstakingly knitting each wee stitch and embroidering so many faces. This, amazingly, seemed easier.
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Before I knew it, I was spreading out the big pieces of paper with the pattern printed on them. Another minute and I had a pair of scissors in my hand. I paused then, not really wanting to start. If I started then there was the very real potential that I was going to ruin the kit. It was so perfect in its bag – that neatly folded fabric, that beautiful cloud of carded wool, that lovely cardboard wrapped with floss, button thread, ribbon, and elastic. One wrong move with my inexperienced hand could wreck the whole thing. I should put the scissors away – what was I thinking! I don’t sew.
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I was going to put them away, really, but then I picked them up and, without any warning, I was carefully, oh my goodness so carefully, cutting the pattern pieces out. After all, this wasn’t sewing. This was cutting, and last time I checked, I’ve been pretty good at cutting since, um, kindergarten. Besides, it would save some time when my MIL came to help me. I wasn’t going to waste her valuable time having her hold my hand while Cutting Paper. Ridiculous.
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When I had all the pattern pieces, I put them neatly into the bag again and put it away, satisfied. Well, not really. It took another two days of constant thinking and flip-flopping before I found myself again with the bag and a shivery feeling.
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What harm could I do just tracing the patterns on to the fabric? No, really, it’s a water-soluble marker. If I mess up, I can just wash it right out. No permanent damage here. So I took my marker and with the concentration and precision of a surgeon, I traced along my pieces. Whew. Nothing exploded either. I wandered around the house on a creative high, and when I woke up I was standing next to the fabric with pins and scissors in my hand again.
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First up, I wondered where the pins had come from. Knitters don’t really need pins, especially knitters like me who are so against sewing that they choose patterns specifically that don’t have seams of any kind. Socks are great for this – no sewing at ALL, just one big, complicated knot from start to finish. Shawls are also awesome for only requiring a needle to weave in the starting and stopping points, and even then it’s a big needle, blunt and easily threaded by the blind.
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And yet, I had pins and apparently I even knew where they were so I could put my hands on them at a moment’s notice. How’s that for being a good Girl Scout? I put them in my fabric around the lines I’d just traced and, after only a moment’s hesitation, I Took the Scissors and Cut the Fabric!
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The only reason I didn’t hyperventilate was because, honestly, that would have probably resulted in a disaster that I couldn’t really afford to fix. These pieces, now that I’d started, must come out well. In knitting, there is a technique called the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZnigwAP2iY">steek</a>. It’s when you knit a beautiful sweater (or vest) usually in a colorwork pattern in a tube and then CUT the armholes, cardigan line, and sometimes the neck after you’ve finished. I’ve heard the sound that scissors make when you cut things like this and it makes me sort of woozy. For some reason, I believe that things just fall apart when you cut them, and not just in to the two expected pieces either. And yet, here I was snipping up the velour almost as if I didn’t even care what happened to it. In no time at all, even though during some of the individual moments when I was doing the oval shaped bunting time did seem to stop, I had all the pieces I needed.
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I took another break. After all, I had definitely reached the end of what prep work I could do without help. I cut out the pattern and the pieces. The only thing left to do was actually start sewing them, and, well, that would just be too hard.
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But then my darling husband took Ezri away with him on a day trip, leaving the new baby and me to myself for a whole morning. I hurried through some necessary chores that are easier to do without three-year-old assistance and gleefully took up the little baby sweater I’ve been trying to make for a friend ever since I found out she was pregnant (she’s due in February).
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Merry slept beside me, and the sunlight was perfect and bright in our living room. Everything was so quiet and beautiful, and yet, I was discontent. This sweater, why was I so excited about it? I mean, I love the girl I’m knitting it for, but I’ve done this pattern three times now and I’m at that dull bit where I just have to knit in a circle for row after tedious row. Why on earth would I waste the beautiful daylight I have right now, this quiet alone time in the sun, with a project that I can do in complete darkness?
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That’s what I thought! That’s not very effective time management now is it? No, definitely not. Then it came to me. The head! The doll’s head doesn’t require any sewing! But it does need some toddler-free time investment. I got my well-worn bag out of the closet again with the instructions and proceeded to see if I could make a doll head.
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All my doll heads up to this point have been pretty basic and repetitive. You make a circular formed piece of whatever and stuff it. That’s it. A Waldorf head is different; it’s what makes them special and easily recognized. It’s a shaped head. I eagerly turned to the directions and got out my big puffy block of wool.
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I squeezed it and shaped it and rolled it and followed the directions to the letter. I made a big mess:
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8270754901/" title="Ground zero by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="Ground zero" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8223/8270754901_d80c99693d.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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But in the end I got something that looked like it might be right:
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271819644/" title="Nice and smooth by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="Nice and smooth" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8199/8271819644_c213c51efe.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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Just to be sure, I doubled checked using a real-life adorable model:
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8270754237/" title="Who's a doll? by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="Who's a doll?" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8351/8270754237_d919dbbc7e.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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Yep! You can barely tell the two apart. Then I broke a few craft threads and made another big mess, but by the time my husband and older daughter were due to come home, I had finished the head.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271818456/" title="That actually looks right by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="That actually looks right" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8078/8271818456_b80113ff53.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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Then I quit. Really. No, I put everything away and left it alone.
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Or at least, I wanted to.
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Before long, I had reasoned with myself that so far this project had been a total success. Also, why did I need a sewing machine? Did I think that the Waldorf people who started creating these dolls in Europe back in the dark ages had sewing machines? Not likely! And yet they made lots of beautiful things with only their two hands and a tiny needle. I had a tiny needle! I took out my hand pieces and my thread and lovingly started the first seam, thinking peaceful thoughts about creating and doing it the same way as it had been done for hundreds of years. Me and my sewing. Together. Making something beautiful.
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Ha!
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The hands are made with four layers of cotton held together. My needle, poor thing, wouldn’t go through all the layers.
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(poor bent needle)
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I had to stop what with my needle being turned into a fishhook, but I did so reluctantly. I wanted to sew this together. I wanted to see the finished piece. I wanted to bask in my accomplishment, of doing something that I had no experience in doing and no idea how to start, and actually making it work.
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I’m going to write a novella in Italian!!
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That weekend, Rich took Ezri with him on a scouting campout. I was giddy with anticipation. They would be gone all night and all the next day. I kissed them good-bye and spent the afternoon cleaning. (Yeah, bet you didn’t see that coming.) I was cleaning because I was making a space perfect for, you guessed it, a sewing machine! I cleaned some other stuff too because nothing really takes the buzz out of crafting like having Other Things You Should Be Doing With Your Time looming over your head. I wasn’t about to let guilt ruin my experience.
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One of my coworkers said that she had a machine that she wasn’t using at the moment when I told her that I was getting obsessed about this project and probably wouldn’t be able to have a conversation not involving cotton velour and back stitching and too thick fabric again until I had resolved my issues, conquered the task, and finished it. She’s a good friend (and I’m sure she likes to talk about other stuff), so she said I could come pick it up that Friday night.
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So even though I had no idea how to work it, and she didn’t really know how either, I took the machine with me bursting at the seams with confidence that somehow I could figure it out. I have a degree, right? It’s just a machine, right?
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I brought everything home, put the darling baby to bed, and then set the beast up on my kitchen table.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271817978/" title="The beast by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="The beast" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8213/8271817978_871c0304b4.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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Once upon a time when I was in seventh or eighth grade, I took a required home economics class. They taught me how to iron, how to make an omelet, and the poor woman in charge tried to teach me how to sew. I remember picking a horrible pink fabric and cutting two pieces out of it that sort of resembled a teddy bear. I also remember sewing without thread on a piece of paper, taking care to make sure that the needle punctured only on the lines that were drawn on it. That was a crooked little teddy bear, and I don’t even think I own it anymore (I think I threw it out in embarrassment). But the point is that I did have, at one time, some sort of knowledge that allowed me to thread a machine. And I knew that just threading it at the top wasn’t enough. That sewing machines, genius little contraptions, work great because they have thread coming from the top and bottom. They have
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271817484/" title="Bobbin by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="Bobbin" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8490/8271817484_a62e4436f0.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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Complicated, intimidating monstrosities that are inappropriately (because it is such a sweet, cute word) named bobbins. Oooh, look at the wee bobbin! It exists to vex me! Look at it sticking its tongue out at me.
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However, even though I have only the most basic knowledge of how a sewing machine works, I am pretty good at finding things on the Internet. Within a few minutes, I had found the Operator’s Manual of my borrowed machine and was reading away on how to get the beast to bend to my will and sew me a seam.
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I took a long time threading the bobbin and the upper needle. Then I spent some more time figuring out why it wasn’t working, and more time wondering if I should just quit before I did something stupid like breaking the machine or hurting my fabric. At long last, everything seemed to be in order to function without spontaneously combusting. I positioned my fabric carefully under the foot. I remembered that it was a good idea to sew a little, then sew backwards to make a sort of knot that wouldn’t come out. I made sure my light was good, double checked the whole thing again, took a deep breath, and ever so gently put pressure on the foot pedal.
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OH MY STARS!
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The noise that came out of that machine knocked me backward. I ripped my foot off the pedal, leaped from my chair, and had to take a little walk around the kitchen, staring at the sewing machine to make sure it wasn’t going to suddenly sprout fangs.
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Knitting is almost silent. You can knit right next to a sleeping baby’s head and she will not be disturbed in the least. There is a gentle clicking of needles as they come together to form a stitch. There is a light sweep of yarn across the surface. There is the occasional moment where you are so at peace with this meditation that you start humming softly just from the joy, but that’s it. Practically inaudible.
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Once my heart rate had returned to normal and the machine had not yet made its move to bite me, I sat back down and thought about trying again. Of course it’s going to make noise. Things are moving. It’s using power. It’s not out to get me. I positioned everything once more and tried again.
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After some more furious starts and stops, I made my way (sloooooowly) around the outside of the doll’s hand. Did you know that a needle has to be moving at a certain velocity before it can puncture through whatever you are sewing? Did you know that this speed is faster than my comfort cruising pace? There were so many times that I was so intent on where my fabric was and where that needle was going and, hey watch out that you don’t break your needle on a pin, that I narrowly missed putting my own finger through it. Luckily, I did not injure myself. When I was done, I pulled the hand out from under the needle. I held it up to the light and smiled the smile of a conquistador. I had sewed a (crooked, wonky) seam and lo, it was good.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8270749183/" title="No, really, a hand by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="No, really, a hand" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8212/8270749183_a44c0fe001.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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(sorry the picture is blurry. It was late and I might have been a little excited. Why? Because that there, my friends, is a SEAM that I made a machine sew for me. The adrenaline was making me shaky.)
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I did the other hand. It seemed to be done in an instant. I sewed the seams for the doll’s bunting body. I sewed the head. Look how quickly that machine can sew things! This would have taken me hours and hours. I was intoxicated with the power.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271814016/" title="I sewed a SEAM! by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="I sewed a SEAM!" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8221/8271814016_c8e93dab53.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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And I probably would have kept going if it hadn’t been midnight and my darling baby didn’t want a snack. Nursing an infant is a great sleep aid. It’s almost impossible to hold a warm, cuddly, sleeping baby without wanting to nod off, even if you’re hopped up on sewing machine fumes and caffeine. When it came time to put the baby back to bed, I went right along with her. Triumphant.
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The best part was that the next morning I had all to myself. I got all my stuff from the night before and relocated to the couch to finish the doll body. Of course, I made sure that I had correct supervision:
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271812310/" title="I don't know, Mom, looks wonky by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="I don't know, Mom, looks wonky" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8347/8271812310_da42b1c834.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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The body of this doll is supposed to be filled with lavender-scented millet. Millet, for those who don’t know, is a grain. It makes the doll all-natural and good smelling. A lot of people really like the idea of dolls like this. I can get behind that. A doll made from all the best that the earth has to offer. . . stuffed with sheep’s wool, assembled from organic cotton and muslin, then filled with calming essential oil soaked grain. It’s a great idea, romantic and pleasant.
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Until you start thinking about what a body stuffed with grain really entails. What if it gets wet and sprouts? Hmm? What if your beautiful doll, as sometimes happens with beautiful things, is a magnet for disaster? You know what I’m talking about, dear mothers. It’s when you make a blessing dress for your daughter and do everything you can to make sure that it’s clean for pictures. You feed her early and burp her every ten minutes until picture time. You do not put the dress on her until thirty seconds before it actually needs to be on her person. And even though she has not spit up for ninety minutes and hasn’t eaten for longer than that, she inexplicably spits up her entire day’s consumption all over the dress the moment you pull it over her head.
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You know, hypothetically speaking.
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And worse! You know what else loves millet besides nature-loving, organically minded creative pattern-making Waldorf moms? MICE! MOTHS! Yuck! What if your daughter doesn’t actually keep the doll with her every single second of every single day until she gets married, even though you have it planned that way in your imagination? What if she puts it on a shelf or in a closet, thinking perhaps to “keep it nice” and by the very act of preservation leaves it prone in the darkness for vermin to find and destroy?
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Basically, I didn’t want to stuff my heirloom doll body with rat food. Even though you do bake the millet first to discourage that kind of behavior – there was a warning on the pattern that put me off. I want my doll to endure. And if I’m going to sew something, it being the Process that it is, I want it to last FOREVER. I do not want to have to keep replacing millet or fixing holes. No. I do it once and then never again.
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Fortunately, there are alternatives to weight a doll besides grain. There are polyester beads. Ugh. I just typed that and now all of a sudden I feel like a betrayal to the whole Waldorf principle of giving your children natural toys to play with. Let’s just skip ahead before I go buy 25 pounds of millet.
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I spent the morning sewing hands into wrist openings, turning down the edges of the body and hand sewing raglan lines. For the record? I do not know how people hand sew at this point. That needle is small and very difficult to get through the fabric. If I hadn’t had this little guy
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271813516/" title="Saving grace by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="Saving grace" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8063/8271813516_91a1feb681.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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to give me some friction, I probably wouldn’t have been able to do it. That, my dears, is a little piece of something that quilters use to pull their needles. I got it, oh you’re going to love this, from a Young Women’s activity when we made two tied quilts for Project Linus. I volunteered to do the finishing when we couldn’t get them done on the actual night and I got to keep that little circle. I don’t know what it’s made of, but I think I should get some points for keeping it and knowing where to find it when I realized that, wow, after all these years it really IS going to come in handy for something. (Hoarders unite!)
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I had to use a funnel and a measuring cup to get the right amount of poly beads into the arms and body. Which means that I’ve used more than a dozen items that I’ve never used while crafting before and yet still had easily accessible in my house. I want to think that means that I am just prepared and not that I have too much stuff.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8270746537/" title="Items you do not need to knit by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="Items you do not need to knit" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8203/8270746537_5912efc742.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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In the end, I managed it. A full recognizable doll.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8271810296/" title="It actually looks like I know what I'm doing by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="It actually looks like I know what I'm doing" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8212/8271810296_5cda72d11a.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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She weighed in around three pounds at sixteen inches high. I put her next to Merry for inspection. I carried her around the living room, noticing that the dear souls who make these dolls for therapy are one hundred percent correct – you really can’t help but pull this doll in close. This isn’t a dolly you dangle by one wrist like a Raggedy Ann (not that those aren’t charming too). This is a newborn snuggler. The weight and size trigger some instinct to cuddle it close on your shoulder and pat it on the back. The wool inside its chest makes it huggable. The longer you hold it, the warmer it gets.
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/8270745285/" title="Congratulations! You have a heavy baby by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="Congratulations! You have a heavy baby" height="375" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8485/8270745285_c9ba6dfffc.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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I had one more major sewing expedition with the machine where I sewed the cotton velour into the bunting nightgown (it happened so fast I didn’t even get pictures. Sewing is weird like that. It’s like a roller coaster. You take a deep breath, climb in, hang on with white knuckles all the while it’s happening, then wish you had a photo of the experience after it’s all over and you’re standing with rapidly beating heart in the next line). I embroidered the face with the help of a seven-inch long needle. I tied a ribbon around the hat. I put elastic in the sleeves and neck. And the last thing I did to the doll before I kissed her complete was rouge her cheeks with a beeswax crayon. The night I finished her, which was a few days before my daughter’s birthday (how cool is that?) I stayed up way too late just admiring my work.
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I couldn’t really believe that it had happened. I took that kit bag and used everything in it and got something that looked right. I read directions and interpreted them correctly enough that I had something tangible and recognizable. This was a thousand times better than my home ec teddy bear. I was so pleased with how things had worked out. It was so weird.
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Weird? Yes. Because I make things all the time. Since high school I have had a constant project going that ended up in a moment like this. I’ve made afghans, bags, mittens, sweaters, toys, scarves, socks, vests, hats . . . and even that one time that I was paid to knit costumes for a movie. So many finished things. And yeah, I get little buzzes after finishing those things too, but for some reason this was different. This one was even more special. Probably because it was the first time I’d ever sewed something that I liked. Maybe because I did it without help. I’m not for sure, but I do know that even though I have knit Ezri little toys before, and even though I once took a half mile of silk so fine it resembled dental floss and made a complicated knot that someone bought for enough money I could have purchased all three of the organic, already completed dolls at the fair:
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6477351607/" title="IMG_2773 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2773" height="375" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7009/6477351607_8ac7700a47.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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this was a Big Deal. My daughter saw something she wanted and I was able to make it for her even though I didn’t know how and I managed to get it done with minimal time investment. That shawl up there? Yeah, that took a whole month of constant work. This doll? Off and on commitment for a week or so. And bonus. It was So Much Fun!
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I wrapped the doll and gave it to Ezri for her third birthday (funny enough, I also received a handmade doll for my third birthday, made for me by my older sister. I still have her, in pristine condition). Ezri opened the box and recognized the doll immediately. She turned to me and smiled, “You bought this at the Elves’ Fair!”
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And I was pretty thrilled. I was so happy about it that I starting thinking that I wanted to do it again.
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Oh wait. I have two daughters. I bought two kits. Where are my scissors?Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-82834632948039701032011-12-29T12:58:00.001-08:002011-12-29T12:58:57.832-08:00Who's There? A BJD PhotostorySo . . . it’s really hard to take decent pictures in the winter when the sun goes down before I even get home from work. I’m using that as my excuse as to why 1) the pictures look the way they do and 2) why you haven’t heard from me in a while. I have a lot of stories to tell, so it’s been frustrating not to have the time or means to make them. This one should have been done months ago, when I actually received the box in question, but, as always, time just continues to move without me. However, since these stories are works of fiction, we can just pretend, right?<br />Also, I can’t decide on Kotori’s hair. I really love Gryffin’s old wig on her, but then I made the one she’s wearing in this story and think it makes her look so tomboyish and sweet, yet it’s too slippery to wear every day. I just don’t know. If anybody has a favorite Kotori hairpiece, let me know, eh?<br />But we’re not actually talking much about Kotori or Gryffin today. Oh no! Today should be a special day because I got a delivery confirmation notice in my email late this afternoon, and I’ve been all excited to get home and finally open a box that I’ve been waiting on for several weeks. It should be in my mailbox outside right now –<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469926413/" title="IMG_2692 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7155/6469926413_d1922d81e4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2692"></a><br /><br />Me: “Oh, hi Gryffin. What are you doing?” And what’s with the fierce expression?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469927659/" title="IMG_2693 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7146/6469927659_d401d619d7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2693"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Playing cards, what does it look like?”<br />Me: “I thought you were helping Kotori with her homework project.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469928971/" title="IMG_2694 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7159/6469928971_0ce9e6284d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2694"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Yeah, turns out she didn’t need me after all. One of her friends came, and they went to the library or whatever.”<br />Me: “You sound a little upset about it.” Which means I will have to put off the mail in the name of being a Good Parent.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469931917/" title="IMG_2696 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7169/6469931917_e1a728a078.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2696"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “I don’t care! It’s not like she needs my permission. She can do what she wants.” (messing up his card game)<br />Me: (wondering if I should get involved) “I’m sorry Kotori feels the need to soak up as much American culture as she can every second of every day.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469933145/" title="IMG_2697 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7152/6469933145_3ac5f1cce6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2697"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Doesn’t she though? I wonder when it’s going to kick in that she’s going to be living here permanently. She can take years for all this stuff; she doesn't have to volunteer for everything that comes along.”<br />Me: “Maybe you should tell her?”<br />Gryffin: “Yeah, sure, that’s going to work. Hey, Kotori, could you maybe change your entire personality and Stop Being So Helpful? I’d rather you just stay home every night and be bored and friendless.”<br />Me: “Or you could do things with her? Maybe volunteer to do the same stuff she’s doing so you wouldn’t feel so left out?”<br />Gryffin: “What do you think I was trying to do with this stupid homework thing? You think I wanted to devote my evening to filming a scene from MacBeth for her AP English deal?”<br />Me: “Well, actually, that does sound like fun –“<br />Gryffin: “Fine! It’s fun! I’m sure she’s having a blast, but she didn’t want me there. When I asked if she wanted my help, she got all red in the face and stammery and said she didn’t think I’d be interested so she’d made a group and they were all set, but thank you anyway.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469935243/" title="IMG_2699 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7160/6469935243_fc41618f61.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2699"></a><br /><br />Me: “I’m sorry, buddy. Is there anything I can do to help you?”<br />Gryffin: “No, I’m all ranted out.”<br />Me: “Ok then, I’m just going to go and pick up the mail, but we can talk more if you want.”<br />Gryffin: “It’s ok, and I already got it when I walked Kotori out to her friend’s car.”<br />Me: “Oh, you did? And?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469939159/" title="IMG_2703 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7028/6469939159_c0894846e5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2703"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “And the package you’ve been talking about for days is right there.”<br />Me: Struggling with conflicting emotions. I don’t want to make Gryffin think I don’t care about his emotional teenage turmoil (caused by his own inability to recognize his feelings), but I’m still excited about my box. . . .<br />Gryffin: (Bless him!) “What’s in it anyway? Why does it have holes in it and fragile stickers . . oh, and especially the part where it says, Live Animal / Open Immediately? What’s that all about?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469941493/" title="IMG_2707 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7031/6469941493_4ffe5516cd.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2707"></a><br /><br />Me: “Isn’t it sweet? I adopted a Fairy. See? Here’s her picture.”<br />Gryffin: “What does that mean? Adopted?”<br />Me: “It was the most adorable thing, ever. The website I found sells these Fairies, from Fairyland, and instead of saying that each one is hand-sculpted and unique, they say that they ‘breed’ fairies as good-luck charms for houses and offer them out for adoption. She’s supposed to bring good fortune if she ‘lives’ with us.”<br />Gryffin: (not impressed) “You’ve been waiting for weeks for a good-luck doll?”<br />Me: “I think I’m going to open her somewhere else so your bad mood won’t tarnish the experience.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469956195/" title="IMG_2792 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7026/6469956195_1dc415fe06.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2792"></a><br /><br />Gryffin (following me): “Sorry, Mom. I’ll quit raining on your parade. Let me see your fairy.”<br />Me: “Thanks, honey. Here, I want to get a picture, so why don’t you open the box for me? I can’t wait to finally see her! I think I’ll put her in the family room -”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469957491/" title="IMG_2793 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7030/6469957491_66a494424d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2793"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Ok, here we go.” Pause. <br />Me: “Gryffin, I can’t see. Open the box all the way.”<br />Gryffin: “You’re not going to like it.”<br />Me: “Of course I will! Just open it.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469961771/" title="IMG_2796 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7017/6469961771_32ed28818f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2796"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “But there’s nothing here.”<br />Me: “What? No. There’s a note – what’s the note say?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469959105/" title="IMG_2794 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7153/6469959105_9156a7d4ba.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2794"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (reading): “’Caution – contains live animal.’ Oh, please.”<br />Me: “And?”<br />Gryffin (sighs): “’Dear New Fairy Owner, if you are right now looking at an empty box, congratulations! If your fairy is missing, it means she already feels quite at ease in her new home and is currently exploring her surroundings.’ Yeah, right.”<br />Me: “Shh, keep reading.”<br />Gryffin: “I don’t think so. It’s too stupid.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469960421/" title="IMG_2795 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7031/6469960421_51e68c21d9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2795"></a><br /><br />Me: “Give it here, then. ‘If you look quick behind your shoulder, you may catch a glimpse of her. But don’t worry, once she’s quite settled, perhaps in your teapot, she will come forward and make herself known to you. This introduction process generally takes six to eight weeks.’ Oh, how cute.”<br />Gryffin: “Unbelievable!”<br />Me: “That there’s a fairy somewhere in the house?”<br />Gryffin: “Nooooo! Mom, you got conned. You paid for an empty box! This is horrible.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469963059/" title="IMG_2797 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7023/6469963059_69aa38fca5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2797"></a><br /><br />Me: “What are you talking about? This is great! It’s just what their company advertised – a genuine domesticated fairy. Come to think of it, there was nothing on the site that said it was a figurine, I just assumed that. Awww, I wonder where she is.”<br />Gryffin: “I’m not hearing this.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469964529/" title="IMG_2798 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7155/6469964529_dcdbf143fc.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2798"></a><br /><br />Me: “What?”<br />Gryffin: “Mom, come on. It’s so obvious!”<br />Kotori: “Hey, everyone, I’m home. What’s going on? What’s with the box?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469967251/" title="IMG_2800 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7023/6469967251_6f6097934a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2800"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Kotori! Great, you’re home. Now you can help me explain to Mom that she’s just become the victim of a scam.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469968493/" title="IMG_2801 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7163/6469968493_b028f45bd8.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2801"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “What is he talking about, Mrs. Kingsley?”<br />Me: “Oh, Gryffin is just upset because I bought a domesticated fairy and she’s somewhere exploring the house.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469969623/" title="IMG_2802 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7014/6469969623_cc65b5498e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2802"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “You mean Gwendolyn?! She finally got here? Awww, I can’t wait to see her!”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469970897/" title="IMG_2803 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7010/6469970897_3884080899.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2803"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Kotori, seriously, not you too. Look at the box! They sent her an empty box!”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469972091/" title="IMG_2804 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7153/6469972091_1ac8f239fa.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2804"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “It’s not completely empty. See? Her wardrobe is still here. Oh, look how tiny she is! I never thought they’d send you a real fairy.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469973309/" title="IMG_2805 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7004/6469973309_4b230ef4f4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2805"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “They didn’t send her anything!”<br />Kotori: (reading) “’Your fairy is very young and shy, but she’s quite used to humans, dogs, cats, and other pets. Give her some time to warm up to you, and she will be an invaluable addition to your household. Our company has devoted itself to bringing this sweet and helpful species back from near extinction, and we are the only one of our kind in the world. We have nearly three dozen fairy clans, and our adolescent fairies are excited to become a part of other families. Our mission is to close the gap between humans and fae and create new, safer, habitats for these once completely wild creatures in homes around the globe. We know that your home is ideal just because you’ve chosen to open it to Gwendolyn.’ Wow, that’s amazing, it’s personalized and everything.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469974541/" title="IMG_2806 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7157/6469974541_8ba1611403.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2806"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Why am I the only one seeing what’s going on here? Come on, guys, wake up! This kind of stuff happens all the time. These Fairyland people created a site, got a bunch of suckers to send them money, then they sent out empty packages saying that we can wait weeks before we see something that isn’t really there in the first place and by that time, the site will be down, the phone number will be disconnected, and they will be long gone with most of my college tuition savings and no way to get it back. Mom! I can’t believe you got tricked like this!”<br />Me: “No, it’s all very legitimate. They have owner reviews and testimonials and everything.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469975787/" title="IMG_2807 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7011/6469975787_a906d52453.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2807"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “From who? PETA? I give up. I’m going to go warn the Better Business Bureau about this.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469977123/" title="IMG_2808 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7156/6469977123_fcdaf8cb81.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2808"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “It’s a really fun idea, Mrs. Kingsley, but I’m wondering if Gryffin might be right? It does seem a little odd for people to be selling real fairies through the mail and expecting people to be content when they open an empty box.”<br />Me: “I know, but it would be nice if it were true. I guess I’ll give them a call in the morning and see about a refund.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469978341/" title="IMG_2809 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7152/6469978341_b4fb9f3417.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2809"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kingsley. I know how excited you were about this.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469979675/" title="IMG_2810 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7164/6469979675_43c5aca854.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2810"></a><br /><br />Kotori: Too bad about all the commotion tonight. So much disappointment in such a small time-frame can’t be good for anyone.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469981005/" title="IMG_2811 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7033/6469981005_957c4d8c59.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2811"></a><br /><br />Kotori (throwing Gryffin’s hat on the bed): But it is kind of fun to watch Gryffin get all worked up like that. I bet Mrs. Kingsley was pretending to believe in the fairy just so she could laugh inside about how hysterical he gets.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469982305/" title="IMG_2812 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7016/6469982305_24b41af439.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2812"></a><br /><br />Kotori: I wish I’d let him come help film our scene, but I’d be too embarrassed to be Lady MacBeth if he were there watching me! <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469983655/" title="IMG_2813 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7016/6469983655_b92cee4faa.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2813"></a><br /><br />Kotori: pulling back the covers and Noticing Something Not Normal<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469984705/" title="IMG_2814 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7144/6469984705_b6dd2d702e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2814"></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469986145/" title="IMG_2815 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7146/6469986145_4ebbc6eb89.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2815"></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469987425/" title="IMG_2816 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7003/6469987425_b30e3fb434.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2816"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (throwing the covers back on) “EEEP!!!”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469988755/" title="IMG_2817 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7144/6469988755_0c50674af1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2817"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (running out of the room) “Gryffin!!”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469989949/" title="IMG_2818 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7017/6469989949_c2b7499e38.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2818"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “You say you saw what in your bed, now?”<br />Kotori: “I don’t know – I just glimpsed it. I was too scared to get a good look. I just threw the covers over it and ran to get you.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469991435/" title="IMG_2819 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7165/6469991435_fb8bd125d4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2819"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (flopping on the bed) “Mom got you all weirded out by the fairy thing, huh?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469992795/" title="IMG_2820 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7019/6469992795_fbdebee77a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2820"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “But if we pull the blanket back, I’m sure that we’ll find that it was all in your imagination.”<br />Kotori: “Be careful.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469994137/" title="IMG_2821 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7151/6469994137_3683b31f45.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2821"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Uh huh. See? Nothing there.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469995381/" title="IMG_2822 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7143/6469995381_0bdb594a68.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2822"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “And nothing to be freaked out about.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469996547/" title="IMG_2823 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7030/6469996547_a669376383.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2823"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “Now I'm worried. What if I DID find your mom’s fairy in my bed, but now I’ve scared her off for good? What if she runs out and never comes back. What if she goes outside and something hurts her!”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469997853/" title="IMG_2824 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7173/6469997853_b076b7c7d7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2824"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Kotori, seriously, don’t worry so much. I’m sure the Fairyland people explained that popping up in people’s beds without warning might cause an unexpected reaction like yours. Or, as is more probable, you were just tired and thought you saw something that wasn’t actually there, which still means that everything is fine and, once again, you don’t have to worry.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6469999169/" title="IMG_2825 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7029/6469999169_f4cdee3f9d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2825"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “Still, I’d better go tell your mom about it.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6470001575/" title="IMG_2827 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7017/6470001575_a09cc60aaa.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2827"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Thanks for saving me from my overactive imagination, Gryffin. You’re my hero. I’m sure you’re right – it’s just because I’ve been overworking myself lately. No wonder I’m seeing things. Maybe I shouldn’t try to do so much. Oh, you’re welcome, Kotori. Maybe we could do something relaxing together tomorrow so I can keep you safe from imaginary fairies.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6470002861/" title="IMG_2828 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7157/6470002861_56e490ebf0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2828"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Man, why can’t I ever say the right thing? I’m so stupid!”<br /><br />Muffled laughter coming from Somewhere.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6470004107/" title="IMG_2829 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7166/6470004107_7816e73a00.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2829"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Who’s there?”<br /><br /><br /><br />Obviously, this is To Be Continued, and I feel bad that I can’t make any promises about when. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it. Happy Holidays!Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-39437437190786417102011-08-22T19:52:00.000-07:002011-08-22T21:38:48.035-07:00The Gnomes Go Marching One By One: A BJD Photo StoryWow, this one took forever to make. . .the things that I do for your entertainment! The last time we saw our resin darlings, Gryffin was thinking of sewing and stuffing all seven of my unfinished Yuletide Gnomes because I carelessly mentioned that I would pay two hundred dollars to anyone who would save me from having to do it. That would be just fine except for one tiny thing.
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<br />Gryffin can't sew to save his life.
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069674711/" title="IMG_2192 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6073/6069674711_7e533a2ef9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2192"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "Hopeless . . . just hopeless. She'll be home tonight and I haven't even really started. What was I thinking?"
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069675511/" title="IMG_2193 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6061/6069675511_f04580cc2a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2193"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "Gryffin? I thought you were still sleeping. What are you doing up here so early?"
<br />Gryffin: "Sewing. . . well . . ."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069675941/" title="IMG_2194 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6203/6069675941_a997e37ac1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2194"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "Really? Sewing? Good for you! Can I look?"
<br />Gryffin: "Um. . . yeah, ok."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069676123/" title="IMG_2195 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6201/6069676123_d0e56e5729.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2195"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "Well, your stitches are pretty even, but what you are making exactly?"
<br />Gryffin: "I was going to sew up Mom's gnomes for her before she gets home tonight."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069676723/" title="IMG_2196 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6204/6069676723_58d61e63d1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2196"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "Oh! That's so nice of you! But, if I may, I think you'll want to seam these up with mattress stitch instead of what you've been using. It will make the stitches invisible. I can show you how . . ."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070223600/" title="IMG_2197 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6069/6070223600_d38a6b9985.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2197"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "Forget it. Even if you showed me, there isn't enough time to do all seven."
<br />Kotori: "Maybe not by yourself."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070224040/" title="IMG_2198 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6199/6070224040_8be12ae4a4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2198"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "But if we worked as a team, I bet we could do it."
<br />Gryffin: "Really, Kotori? But, aren't you busy today?"
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070224374/" title="IMG_2199 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6203/6070224374_dd43073235.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2199"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "Not so busy I can't help a friend in need. Right? I'll just pull this out for a fresh start."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069678075/" title="IMG_2200 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6065/6069678075_9899271bdc.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2200"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "Then I'll do the stitching, and you can do the stuffing and sorting. Ok? Oh, and would you mind bringing my work chair in here for me?"
<br />Gryffin: "Oh, sure, be right back."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070225088/" title="IMG_2201 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6064/6070225088_b33b4ae394.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2201"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "This is such a good idea, Gryffin. Your mom is going to be so surprised! I feel just like that fairy tale about the shoemaker and the elves, don't you?"
<br />Gryffin: "Heh. . . yeah . . . just like that."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069678697/" title="IMG_2206 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6082/6069678697_463325ea37.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2206"></a>
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<br />Kotori: "There's another arm all seamed up! That must be the last of the green ones."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069679091/" title="IMG_2207 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6070/6069679091_06d9a50d8d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2207"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "Put it on the pile . . . wow."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070225768/" title="IMG_2208 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6201/6070225768_7e356324c1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2208"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "That's quite the pile. Gryffin? How's the stuffing coming along?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070226060/" title="IMG_2209 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6185/6070226060_2701ecc9cd.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2209"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "Gryffin?"
<br />Gryffin: "And Kingsley takes his aim, readying his approach."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070226950/" title="IMG_2212 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6086/6070226950_ee5fc5b0e2.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2212"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "There's the release . . . looking good . . . looking really good."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070227262/" title="IMG_2213 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6191/6070227262_026b5bbbfb.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2213"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "STRIKE!!"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069681401/" title="IMG_2215 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6075/6069681401_bfedfb42b6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2215"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "High five!"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069681723/" title="IMG_2216 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6181/6069681723_c4c1b99840.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2216"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "I thought you wanted to be done before your mom comes home tonight."
<br />Gryffin: "Um, yeah, I do."
<br />Kotori: "Then we're going to have to work together. Here. Start stuffing."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070228730/" title="IMG_2217 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6087/6070228730_86235c6ea7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2217"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Sorry, Kotori. I couldn't resist the gnome bowling pins. I'll do better. Now what do you want me to do?"
<br />Kotori: "I need you to stuff these pieces I've already seamed and then sort them out so I know what goes with what gnome. Can you do that?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070229202/" title="IMG_2218 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6184/6070229202_b489c043bb.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2218"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "No problem. This hat goes with this one. And this hat goes with this one. And this one over here, that one over there . . ."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070229690/" title="IMG_2220 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6085/6070229690_60a4a1070d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2220"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "And this one is for you!"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069683479/" title="IMG_2221 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6064/6069683479_bf29c27210.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2221"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "Gryffin, what do I need a hat for?"
<br />Gryffin: "It's magic. Trust me."
<br />Kotori: Sighs. "Whatever you say."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070230532/" title="IMG_2222 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6204/6070230532_2d3ef90fbb.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2222"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "I pulled a panda out of that hat the day before yesterday. Honest. It's magic."
<br />Kotori: "Are you stuffing limbs yet?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070230854/" title="IMG_2223 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6064/6070230854_ffe73ca672.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2223"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Kotori, look! I'm a gnome!"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069684597/" title="IMG_2224 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6189/6069684597_d52911c54d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2224"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "Gryffin, please . . . please focus. I said I'd help you, but I didn't say I'd do it for you."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069684949/" title="IMG_2225 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6088/6069684949_970efa89b1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2225"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "I'm stuffing! I'll be good. Please stay and help me."
<br />Kotori: "That's better."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070231798/" title="IMG_2226 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6083/6070231798_a7758ae380.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2226"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "By the way, Kotori. Don't get me wrong; I'm super grateful, but why did you drop your plans for the day to work on this with me?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070231954/" title="IMG_2227 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6193/6070231954_a6e5b0dc6c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2227"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "There are lots of reasons, I guess. I want to do something nice for your mom too and this is a great way to show her how much I appreciate all she does for me. And, no offense, you really needed someone to help you with the sewing. And, honestly, it's been a long time since we. . . well . . . we haven't really spent much . . um . . I mean. . "
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070232414/" title="IMG_2229 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6188/6070232414_4cd71d204a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2229"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "Anyway, you'd do the same for me. Can I have that nose back? I need to sew it on."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070232866/" title="IMG_2230 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6087/6070232866_b6eec7a75f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2230"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "You want my nose?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070233150/" title="IMG_2231 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6183/6070233150_64c3d94f96.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2231"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "I guess that's a small price to pay for your cheerful assistance."
<br />Kotori: "Thanks."
<br />
<br />Awkward silence turned into occupied silence turned into unconscious silence as the pair worked and worked throughout the day, turning out gnomes left and right. But luckily for you, through the magic of the blogosphere, we can fast forward to much, much later that evening.
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070233692/" title="IMG_2233 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6087/6070233692_15c80e3e28.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2233"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "That does it. What does this make? Five or six?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069687503/" title="IMG_2234 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6069/6069687503_75d5d7c10b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2234"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "One, two, three . . .it makes six. Almost done!"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069688327/" title="IMG_2237 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6210/6069688327_24b036d402.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2237"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "What a relief. I'm almost gnomed out. How about you?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069687765/" title="IMG_2235 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6198/6069687765_5f8e81fa7e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2235"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "I'm fine, but you definitely have the hard part. Are you holding up ok?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070234332/" title="IMG_2236 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6202/6070234332_40f1f98e47.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2236"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "My hands are getting tired. I've never sewn this much all at once before."
<br />Gryffin: "Do you want to take a break?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069688527/" title="IMG_2238 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6072/6069688527_680763b692.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2238"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "No, this is the last one. Let's get it finished."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070235168/" title="IMG_2239 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6181/6070235168_b0a17b4973.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2239"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Good thing it's the last one. We really were cutting it close on the stuffing."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069689385/" title="IMG_2241 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6188/6069689385_0d3b03dda0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2241"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "This is it. Just enough to put in the last nose."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070236368/" title="IMG_2244 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6202/6070236368_083828a41e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2244"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "You did a great job, Kotori. All these gnomes look fantastic."
<br />Kotori: "All that's left is to sew on the magic hat."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069690241/" title="IMG_2245 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6192/6069690241_8d54631260.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2245"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "Voila! They're all done."
<br />Gryffin: "Let's put them back in the basket where Mom kept all the pieces."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070236762/" title="IMG_2246 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6079/6070236762_262c6c1962.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2246"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "They look so cute!"
<br />Gryffin: "Thanks for all your help, Kotori. I never would have made it without you."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070237344/" title="IMG_2248 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6081/6070237344_b7780f756f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2248"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "It wasn't much. I had a lot of fun today."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070237602/" title="IMG_2249 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6070/6070237602_4f9d3ba52b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2249"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "It was kind of fun, wasn't it? But Kotori? You know what that basket is missing?"
<br />Kotori: "What? All seven gnomes are there."
<br />Gryffin: "YOU!" Gently pushes her into the basket.
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070237922/" title="IMG_2250 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6202/6070237922_d6b38a2691.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2250"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori: "Oooff! Oh, hey, it's actually pretty comfortable in here."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069691851/" title="IMG_2251 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6203/6069691851_721a1d9a1d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2251"></a>
<br />
<br />Kotori turns over and promptly falls asleep while Gryffin watches.
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069692099/" title="IMG_2252 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6072/6069692099_32d626e2b0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2252"></a>
<br />
<br />Until the door opens.
<br />
<br />Me: Gryffin? What are you doing up so late? You weren't waiting up for me, were you?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070238598/" title="IMG_2253 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6204/6070238598_8052642cef.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2253"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Shh, kind of. We just finished."
<br />Me: What are you talking about?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069692537/" title="IMG_2254 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6062/6069692537_961b924526.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2254"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Kotori and I have been working on a surprise for you. We finished all your gnomes while you were gone."
<br />Me: "You did! Oh, you're kidding! That's amazing, Gryffin. I can't believe you did that!"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070239164/" title="IMG_2255 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6071/6070239164_94b1706800.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2255"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Actually, all the thanks goes to Kotori. She reorganized her whole day so she could help me. I was going to do it on my own after you said that you would pay anyone two hundred dollars for it . . but then I couldn't even sew one seam without her help. She did everything."
<br />Me: "I see. Did you tell Kotori about the two hundred dollars?"
<br />Gryffin: "No. Are you kidding? Kotori doesn't care about stuff like that. She just did it to help you and me. . .that's how she is."
<br />Me: "You're right, but I should give you both something. That was a lot of work you saved me from."
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "No, Mom, that's ok. Honestly? I think I'd give you two hundred dollars just to do this day all over again . . "
<br />Me: "Oh? Does that mean you'll sew together my next order? There's only half a dozen this time around."
<br />Gryffin: "Sure, whatever you like."
<br />Me: "Great. But we'll talk about it more in the morning. I'm headed up to bed, how about you?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070239734/" title="IMG_2256 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6187/6070239734_fe19f81164.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2256"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "You go ahead. I'll be up in a little while."
<br />
<br />The end!
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6070240072/" title="IMG_2257 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6200/6070240072_561af3d218.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2257"></a>
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6069693987/" title="IMG_2258 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6197/6069693987_d12e557545.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2258"></a>
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<br />Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-64994831059185574652011-08-16T19:37:00.000-07:002011-08-16T21:00:19.250-07:00Let's Talk Gnomes: A BJD PhotostorySorry it's been so long since my last photo story. My real life has been captivating lately. Anyway, just to give a bit of explanation in case it's unclear in the post, Gryffin is doing his own thing while I'm talking about something completely different. He ends up doing a magic trick and surprises himself with what he pulls out of a hat. But that's not what I really want to talk about. In fact . . .
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051746670/" title="IMG_2144 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6181/6051746670_ff576b1673.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2144"></a>
<br />
<br />Let's talk gnomes!
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051195415/" title="IMG_2146 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6070/6051195415_e16c6f6b6c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2146"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Did you call me?"
<br />Me: "Um, no. I'm doing a blog post about gnomes. Nothing to do with you." (Not everything does, you know.) "Why?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051750434/" title="IMG_2147 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6066/6051750434_4e1466a71c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2147"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "I thought you said, 'Let's talk, Holmes,' like you were trying to be all hip and slang. But if you're just doing your crazy knitting stuff, that's ok."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051199943/" title="IMG_2150 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6064/6051199943_ddbcacae7d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2150"></a>
<br />
<br />Me: "Is that how kids talk now a days?"
<br />Gryffin: "Only if you're . . . well, not if you aren't, um. . . "
<br />Me: ????
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051751502/" title="IMG_2148 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6086/6051751502_72c3d12b78.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2148"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Just promise me you won't try to talk that way."
<br />Me: "But what?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051756940/" title="IMG_2153 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6076/6051756940_a2c9dc6653.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2153"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Ever."
<br />Me: "Then that goes for you too, buster."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051198981/" title="IMG_2149 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6205/6051198981_f681c0c108.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2149"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "So you said this was supposed to be a gnome?"
<br />Me: "That's right. A Jultomtar designed by Alan Dart. I've knit about a million of them. Apparently they are completely irresistible."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051755822/" title="IMG_2152 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6085/6051755822_5cb77a6673.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2152"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "No kidding. He doesn't even have eyes."
<br />Me: "That's part of his appeal - for me. It means I don't have to embroider a face."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051200883/" title="IMG_2151 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6084/6051200883_11d3e4fd3b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2151"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "Right, because you're no good at it." (Thinking: Nice hat)
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051758020/" title="IMG_2154 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6079/6051758020_af6717ae88.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2154"></a>
<br />
<br />Me: "I don't suppose you could just go back to whatever it was you were doing before I started my post, could you? I mean, obviously this isn't entertaining you in the least." (And give me my gnome back.)
<br />Gryffin: "I'll be quiet."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051759532/" title="IMG_2155 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6194/6051759532_387c8748de.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2155"></a>
<br />
<br />Me: "As I was going to say, I've certainly got my money's worth out of this little pattern, which I admit I was kind of worried about when I bought it since it wasn't really all that easy."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051206705/" title="IMG_2156 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6188/6051206705_a3acf6bd8e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2156"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Explain."
<br />Me: "Shh. I'm going to. See. I was shown an Internet picture of a Yuletide Gnome by the lady who taught me to knit since she thought it was the cutest thing ever but knew she'd never knit anything so fiddly and thought that I might be interested."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051207699/" title="IMG_2157 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6065/6051207699_d3a623b3d2.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2157"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "Uh huh."
<br />Me: "If you're going to stay, at least don't look so bored. Anyway, she was completely right. It was just the sort of pattern I love, particularly the part about not having to sew a face, so I set about getting myself a copy so I could start churning out armies of gnomes. Except you couldn't get a copy of the pattern that easily because it had been printed in a Christmas excerpt of a magazine that was long sold out and ebay copies were a lot more money than I wanted to pay."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051766110/" title="IMG_2160 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6085/6051766110_ba6f22a1e7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2160"></a>
<br />
<br />"But then I discovered a way! All I had to do was figure out how many US dollars equaled eight British pounds, write a check for that amount, and mail it to this PO Box in England. Then all that was left was to wait a month for the check to clear, and then another month for a copy of the Christmas excerpt to come to me in the mail."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051767382/" title="IMG_2161 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6207/6051767382_2df174a097.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2161"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "You know you'd never let me do anything like that."
<br />Me:" True, but I'm an adult and it was less than twenty dollars, so I figured if I never got a pattern, no one in the family would be actually hurt except me because I would have no pattern and a desperate longing to knit a gnome that would never be fulfilled."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051215897/" title="IMG_2163 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6190/6051215897_67abcaa75f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2163"></a>
<br />
<br />Me: "So anyway, it took a while, but I finally received my pattern. Unfortunately, since I'd been waiting for it so long, I kind of lost my mind a little bit and bought some yarn in gnome colors in preparation for its arrival."
<br />Gryffin: "That's how you got that entire basket downstairs, isn't it?"
<br />Me: "Didn't I tell you to shush? But yes, I had an entire basket dedicated to gnome yarn in nice foresty gnome colors."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051217277/" title="IMG_2164 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6082/6051217277_351324fbd3.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2164"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "Wait a second. It took you two months to get this pattern and you had to send some random check to England to a PO Box and now you're showing how great these guys are on the Internet? Aren't the knitters going to be mad when they find out how hard it is to get this thing for themselves? Won't they, like, hate you or blackmail you for a copy or something?"
<br />Me: "Ah! That's the best part - well, for them, not so much for me, but I always have to do things the hard way. Now all you have to do is go to Alan Dart's <a href="www.alandart.co.uk">website</a> where you can purchase the pattern with Paypal and download it INSTANTLY. So you see, no one's going to be upset except for me because if I had waited a tiny bit longer I could have done the same thing without having to send converted currency checks into oblivion. He even put in a fourth size on his website one."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051771728/" title="IMG_2165 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6182/6051771728_26bdbc718c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2165"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "Bummer for you."
<br />Me: "I know, but getting back to the story - After I got my pattern, I started knitting up gnomes."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051772776/" title="IMG_2166 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6083/6051772776_45e2e980f6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2166"></a>
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<br />Me: "And then once one was finished, I had to knit another one."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051221649/" title="IMG_2168 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6201/6051221649_63ed0f504b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2168"></a>
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<br />Me: "I'd spend hours sitting on the floor with the gnome yarn basket just picking out colors for them. What should I knit the mittens in? What color beard should this one have? It was addicting."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051778126/" title="IMG_2170 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6071/6051778126_0c70656df4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2170"></a>
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<br />Me: "And I wasn't the only one! Your father would sit there with me and think up good color schemes for gnomes. Then we took it even further and started naming them. Good gnomish names like Ebenezer Denroot and Plumford Pepperbeard."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051779172/" title="IMG_2171 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6064/6051779172_e408fd75ef.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2171"></a>
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<br />Me: "Each gnome was more charming than the last."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051226917/" title="IMG_2172 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6190/6051226917_ae2bf2fda1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2172"></a>
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<br />Me: "And I wasn't the only one who was charmed. People started taking notice."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051781214/" title="IMG_2173 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6191/6051781214_6078334745.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2173"></a>
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<br />Me: "First I gave a few to close family members - my sister's daughter, the lady who showed me the pattern to begin with, that kind of thing."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051230055/" title="IMG_2175 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6070/6051230055_abaa68cdc6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2175"></a>
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<br />Me: "But then word got around. Friends of friends were coming to me even though I had no idea who they were and asking about the gnomes. How much were they? Could I make them one for so-and-so for Christmas."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051228817/" title="IMG_2174 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6090/6051228817_3a3bb54e83.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2174"></a>
<br />
<br />Me: "Instead of knitting just one gnome, I was knitting batches of half a dozen at a time. Any time I brought a gnome anywhere - to work to display on my desk, to a baby shower, whatever, I'd leave with a dozen orders for new ones."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051232151/" title="IMG_2177 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6193/6051232151_88d59ac795.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2177"></a>
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<br />Me: "So even though I've knit hundreds of gnomes, we still don't have one of our own."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051233273/" title="IMG_2178 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6064/6051233273_988379fbe6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2178"></a>
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<br />Me: "And it brings me to my current problem."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051234319/" title="IMG_2179 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6201/6051234319_c293e23d5f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2179"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "Which is?"
<br />Me: "Well, that basket you've been messing with is full of all the pieces for seven gnomes - my most recent order."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051788714/" title="IMG_2180 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6067/6051788714_7bfcc9d618.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2180"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "That's a lot of pieces, Mom, but I don't see why it's a problem. Doesn't it mean business is good? Don't you want that?"
<br />Me: "Well, yes, but knitting the same thing over and over gets, well, boring."
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051236505/" title="IMG_2181 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6199/6051236505_62c1e20ded.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2181"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "It's still knitting, and didn't you say that all knitting is just two stitches? How can changing the project make two stitches seem exciting?"
<br />Me: "That's just it. It's not the knitting that bothers me. I could do the knitting all day. In fact, that's what I did here. I knit all the pieces and didn't sew any of them up. Now I have a whole basket full of seaming and piecing that I absolutely hate. I always say that knitting a gnome takes a full week - two days to knit the pieces, one day to sew them up, and four days to whine about how I don't want to sew them up."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051237761/" title="IMG_2182 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6186/6051237761_9edf1a4651.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2182"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "You have the weirdest relationship with your hobby, you know it? Imagine how productive you could be if you just skipped that whining part in the middle."
<br />Me: "Maybe, I'll remind you of that the next time you're whining about a little job that would take you five minutes, ok?" Sighs. "Sometimes I wish I could just pay someone to do the sewing for me. I think I'd pay $200 to anyone who could turn that basket into finished gnomes."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051792186/" title="IMG_2183 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6199/6051792186_2a7e0af1f4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2183"></a>
<br />
<br />Gryffin: "ARE YOU SERIOUS? TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS?"
<br />Me: "Well, something like that. It would be such a relief. I'd ask Kotori to do it, but she's always so busy."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051793612/" title="IMG_2184 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6076/6051793612_6d19b7085e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2184"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "Two hundred dollars? You'd pay two hundred dollars to turn this basket of pieces into gnomes like this one?"
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051795198/" title="IMG_2185 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6210/6051795198_0d76df644a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2185"></a>
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<br />Me: "That's what I said, but I wouldn't wish that kind of work on my worst enemy. Anyway, that's the story of the gnomes. This one is already paid for. It's going to a new baby of a friend of mine. Which brings me to another thing. . "
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051797612/" title="IMG_2187 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6083/6051797612_1229331b76.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2187"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: "Yeah?"
<br />Me: "I'm going to be staying at her place tonight and tomorrow night, so you'll be on your own. I left some money with Kotori, and there's food in the freezer for you. Stay out of trouble, and I'll see you in a few days, ok?"
<br />Gryffin: "No problem. See you later, Mom."
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051243005/" title="IMG_2186 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6073/6051243005_6d0c8e1369.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2186"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: Two hundred dollars, huh?
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051245351/" title="IMG_2188 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6182/6051245351_953f09bc80.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2188"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: And she was thinking of asking Kotori to do it but can't because she's too busy and she wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy . . .
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051246709/" title="IMG_2189 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6085/6051246709_fd26a7fd61.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2189"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: It's just a little sewing. The pieces are already knit - that's the hard part.
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051801376/" title="IMG_2190 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6073/6051801376_c1801306b0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2190"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: I've watched her do it plenty of times. Maybe I could . . .
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<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/6051802464/" title="IMG_2191 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6061/6051802464_555d5d9f3d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_2191"></a>
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<br />Gryffin: What am I saying? For two hundred dollars I Definitely Could!
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<br />
<br />Good luck with that, Gryffin.
<br />Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-88976245299407437442011-06-29T21:09:00.000-07:002011-06-29T21:17:11.857-07:00Happy Birthday, Cassidy: A BJD PhotostoryMy niece’s birthday is coming up on Saturday, and since she is Gryffin’s and Kotori’s biggest fan, I thought she might like to see what went on over here while Gryffin tried to find the perfect gift. Kotori, of course, had everything under control, but the operation was rather humorous. I think that she’ll enjoy it. This is for you, Cassidy!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882949225/" title="IMG_1780 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5230/5882949225_824e32e35c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1780"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Kotori? Kotori, are you home?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883518080/" title="IMG_1785 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5315/5883518080_e838641709.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1785"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “Over here, Gryffin, welcome back. How was your basketball game?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883513980/" title="IMG_1781 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5062/5883513980_c039b32376.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1781"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Fine, but listen, Kotori, I just remembered something important.”<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883519132/" title="IMG_1786 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5153/5883519132_348d2d2b35.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1786"></a><br /><br />Kotori (distracted): “Oh? What’s that?”<br />Gryffin: “It’s my cousin’s birthday on Saturday.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883520174/" title="IMG_1787 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6038/5883520174_2c19d7c98f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1787"></a><br /><br />Kotori (obviously only half listening and concentrating on her project): “That’s nice. How old is she?”<br />Gryffin (pausing): “Eight? I don’t know, but, Kotori, it’s on Saturday. As in, like, the day after tomorrow Saturday.”<br />Kotori: “Hmm-mmm.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882957505/" title="IMG_1788 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6099/5882957505_7a8ee7231a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1788"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Do you hear what I’m saying to you? My cousin’s birthday is on Saturday, and I Do Not Have A Gift For Her!”<br />Kotori: “Ah.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882958785/" title="IMG_1789 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5224/5882958785_e7ce0162ac.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1789"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “I can’t believe I forgot about this. It’s not like I don’t own a calendar. It’s not like I’m irresponsible.”<br />Kotori: “Just a touch forgetful, maybe.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882959779/" title="IMG_1790 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5184/5882959779_e52b9b20f9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1790"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Don’t move, Kotori. I can fix this. I’m going to find a present. I’ll be right back.”<br />Kotori: “Ok.” (Goes back to her sewing.)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883525432/" title="IMG_1792 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5239/5883525432_71f1b86433.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1792"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Got it! A deck of cards. So she can play euchre at lunch at school and solitaire while she’s waiting for her mom to come pick her up from the library. See? It’s perfect!”<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882962845/" title="IMG_1793 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5318/5882962845_2a010dc0f9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1793"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “Um, Gryffin?”<br />Gryffin (interrupting): “You’re right; it’s so not perfect. Besides, these are my lucky cards. I always win Speed when I use these.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883527474/" title="IMG_1794 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5200/5883527474_a13d0ee925.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1794"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “That’s not what I meant.”<br />Gryffin (not waiting for her to finish): “I’m going to look for something else. Be right back.”<br />Kotori (sighing): “All right.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882966117/" title="IMG_1796 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6060/5882966117_e8d3dccdcc.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1796"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “How about this? Girls love movies like this right?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883530856/" title="IMG_1797 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5027/5883530856_6a7c98c66f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1797"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “Isn’t that your mom’s?”<br />Gryffin: “Yeah, but I don’t know why she has it. I mean, she has a SON, right?”<br />Kotori: “Maybe she likes it? Anyway, you shouldn’t give it away because -”<br />Gryffin (interrupting again): “Because Cassidy already has this one! Of course; I remember now.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883532990/" title="IMG_1799 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5119/5883532990_89c0c2a558.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1799"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “I’ll try again. Don’t go anywhere!”<br />Kotori (slightly exasperated): “Whatever you say.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882972339/" title="IMG_1802 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5154/5882972339_c6d4706e30.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1802"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “A plant! It’s perfect! It teaches responsibility. It can’t be used up. It will be a joy forever. A plant is a great present.”<br />Kotori: “No, Gryffin, we aren’t sending a plant-“<br />Gryffin: “No, I guess a plant wouldn’t go through the mail very well, would it? Rats! I’ll have to think of something else.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883537718/" title="IMG_1804 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6010/5883537718_810cc441a1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1804"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “Gryffin, look! I’ve already got Cassidy’s present taken care of.”<br />Gryffin: “A ball of yarn?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882974913/" title="IMG_1805 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5187/5882974913_0cb2f571d1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1805"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Um, Kotori, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but a ball of yarn really isn’t a good gift at all.”<br />Kotori: “But Gryffin –“<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882976071/" title="IMG_1806 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5155/5882976071_cef477e093.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1806"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “I know I gave yarn to Mom at Christmas, so you’re probably confused, but that’s different. See. Mom Really Loves Yarn, but Cassidy, eh, not so much, right?”<br />Kotori: “No, but that’s not what I’m saying-“<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882977109/" title="IMG_1807 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6002/5882977109_13a01ba9cc.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1807"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “It was sweet of you to try, though. Keep thinking and I’ll be right back.”<br />Kotori: Sighs.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882980915/" title="IMG_1811 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5078/5882980915_ef40e369f6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1811"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Kotori, I’ve got it! This time I really do! I’ll give her this stuffed animal I won at the carnival. She’ll love it!”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882981685/" title="IMG_1812 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5116/5882981685_baa60eeca9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1812"></a><br /><br />Kotori (slightly annoyed): “What makes you think so?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883548134/" title="IMG_1815 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6028/5883548134_e8dc85d504.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1815"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “You’re right. It’s not good enough either. It was a bad idea.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883549284/" title="IMG_1816 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6011/5883549284_bbf137bf1f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1816"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “But you know, Kotori, you could help me a little bit instead of just finding something wrong with everything I suggest.”<br />Kotori sneaks up behind Gryffin and throws her big pink project over his head.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883550276/" title="IMG_1817 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5239/5883550276_dbee61e20a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1817"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: “Oooomph!!”<br />Kotori: “If you’ll hold still a minute and let me say something, I can help you. When you're ready to listen you can come out from under Cassidy's gift.”<br />Gryffin (muffled): "Gift?"<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882988407/" title="IMG_1819 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5063/5882988407_c8370a803a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1819"></a><br /><br />Gryffin (pulling the big pink thing off his head): “What is this?”<br />Kotori: “It’s the skirt your niece asked for months ago. Your mother knit it, and I just finished the sewing up. Now do you want to help me so you can say you worked on it too?”<br />Gryffin (sheepishly): “Yes?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882990543/" title="IMG_1821 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6054/5882990543_9b80abc315.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1821"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “Ok. Then take these scissors.”<br />Gryffin (humbled): “Ok.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5883555254/" title="IMG_1822 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5149/5883555254_3c75d72481.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1822"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “And cut this thread.”<br />Gryffin: “Got it.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882992263/" title="IMG_1823 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5076/5882992263_95172818e0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1823"></a><br /><br />Kotori: “There. Now it’s finished, and you can say that you helped.”<br />Gryffin: “Thanks, Kotori. It’s just what she’ll like, I know it. But I have just one question now.”<br />Kotori: “What’s that?”<br />Gryffin: “What are we getting my Mom for her birthday?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882994197/" title="IMG_1825 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6032/5882994197_907fa024fb.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1825"></a><br /><br />Kotori: Groans and slumps<br />Gryffin: “Haha. Just kidding. I’ll figure it out by myself. After all, I still have a couple of months to think about it. Hey, don’t sigh. That’s plenty of time! Kotori? Are you laughing or crying? Kotori?”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5882995167/" title="IMG_1826 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5275/5882995167_1fa59d469c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1826"></a><br /><br />Happy Birthday Cassidy!!Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-36455997277268320942011-06-01T21:21:00.000-07:002011-06-01T22:02:40.207-07:00Gymnastics: A BJD Flexibility Demonstration(Disclaimer: Pardon the baskets of yarn and other randomness strewn around my living room. There will always be at least that amount of yarn, and that random bag in the corner is filled with receipts we haven't burned yet. Oh, and we haven't put the pictures up in our new house because we're still figuring out how to put securing devices into the walls. But you aren't here to listen to any of that. So!)<br /><br />It has been brought to my attention that I may be playing favorites when it comes to my resin charges. That perhaps Gryffin gets more screen time than my part-Japanese exchange daughter. That maybe I may love Gryffin a little bit more. And I say to you: it's not true. My dolls are equally charming, but they have differences that make them better situated to certain settings.<br /><br />Gryffin gets to go more places with me because he is sturdier and holds poses better. He's a typical boy. Kotori is more delicate, more cuddly, and in all honesty could use a good restringing to tighten her up. However! I'm not sure I really want to do that because her elasticity fits her sweet personality so well. Gryffin is the strong, unyielding type, and Kotori is the soft, flexible type. How flexible you say? Well, that brings up another good point about wanting to wait to restring her. If I did, she wouldn't be able to do any of the cool, graceful things she does now. Oh? You want to see? Let's go find them.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5759518059/" title="IMG_1436 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2424/5759518059_23085e4e2e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1436"></a><br /><br />Me: "Aha! Here we are. Can I ask a favor?"<br />Gryffin: "We're a little busy right now, actually. Wait. What's with the camera? Why do you always have a camera?"<br />Me: "Because you're both just so cute. Especially you, Kotori, I love what you did to your hair!"<br />Kotori: "You do? I'm still not sure I like it. It's so dark and thick."<br />Gryffin: "Stop that. It's beautiful, and it will be even more beautiful after I'm done tying this ribbon." Pause. "So really, Mom, why do you have a camera?"<br />Me: "I wanted to take pictures of some of Kotori's gymnastic routine so I could show everyone how flexible she is."<br />Kotori: "Everyone?"<br />Gryffin: "Right now? Can it wait until later? I wanted to take Kotori and her new hair out for ice cream."<br />Me: "Oh. So tonight?"<br />Kotori: "Is that all right? I'm not really dressed for anything demanding, and I didn't know you wanted to do something like this."<br />Me: "No, it's ok. What was I thinking? Young people with plans . . . of course. Tonight."<br />Gryffin: "Thanks, Mom, but promise me you won't just sit around clutching the camera until we get back ok?"<br />Me: (blush) Don't be silly. Go have fun."<br /><br />HOURS LATER<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5787239730/" title="IMG_1723 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3336/5787239730_efd39cf5ef.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1723"></a><br /><br />Me: "You're back!"<br />Gryffin: "You still have the camera!"<br />Kotori: "Hi Mrs. Kingsley. I was just about ready to start for you after I finished putting my soft shoes on."<br />Gryffin: "Can I stay and watch? I haven't seen you do your routine."<br />Me: "Only if you don't make her nervous."<br />Gryffin: "I don't make her nervous!" To Kotori: "Do I?"<br />Kotori: "Let's just get started. . . um . . . what do you want me to do?"<br />Me: "How about a backbend? Can you do one of those?"<br />Kotori: "Of course!"<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5786682801/" title="IMG_1721 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2487/5786682801_b0ae42aef7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1721"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Wow. That's impressive."<br />Me: "Gryffin. We said you could watch, but would you mind getting out of the shot?"<br />Gryffin: "Oh, sorry."<br />Kotori: "What next?"<br />Me: "Touch your toes?"<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5786682273/" title="IMG_1719 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2208/5786682273_650ebf7dc4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1719"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Easy!"<br />Me: "Not easy. There aren't many dolls like you who can do things like that, you know. It's a gift."<br />Kotori: "You really think so? How about the splits? Can't they all do the splits?"<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5787238258/" title="IMG_1718 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5063/5787238258_3f44977822.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1718"></a><br /><br />Me: "Not while leaning forward like that they can't. Oh, and can you lie back on your heels? I've never seen a doll do that before."<br />Kotori: "I don't know --"<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5787239878/" title="IMG_1724 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3556/5787239878_d5995c830e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1724"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "You mean like this?"<br />Me: "Yes, exactly like that! Very nice."<br /><br />Gryffin: "You want to know what else not many dolls can do?"<br />Me: "What's that Gryffin?" (Thinking: Aww, are you starting to feel left out?)<br />Gryffin: "Lift another doll onto their shoulders."<br />Me: "You're right. That I've never seen -"<br />Kotori: "Gryffin? What are you doing?"<br />Gryffin: "I'm going to lift you on my shoulders. Come on, climb up here."<br />Me: "Are you sure that's a good idea? She's only two centimeters shorter than you are and --"<br />Gryffin: "And I know what I'm doing. Spread your arms out Kotori; I've got you."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5787237632/" title="IMG_1715 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3073/5787237632_5e28dcc846.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1715"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "See? I've so got this."<br />Me: "So you have, just be careful."<br />Kotori: "Wow, Gryffin. This is definitely a surprise."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5786681079/" title="IMG_1714 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2753/5786681079_a3929b98fc.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1714"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "I guess if I fall, I can always land in your Mom's soft yarn basket."<br />Gryffin: "Just hold still and you won't fall. Mom? Are you getting this?"<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5786679289/" title="IMG_1706 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3625/5786679289_481d515207.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1706"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "It kind of makes me feel like I'm in the circus."<br />Gryffin: Grunts<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5786680009/" title="IMG_1710 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3374/5786680009_7ccbe7a7a0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1710"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Could you walk like this?"<br />Gryffin: (sounding strained) "Don't push your luck."<br />Kotori: "Are you getting tired? Should I get down?"<br />Gryffin: "Hmmmph."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5787236640/" title="IMG_1711 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2457/5787236640_4f64d5e18a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1711"></a><br /><br />Me: "Great job, guys. Now I can show everyone your different strengths and demonstrate how versatile Dollzone kids really are."<br />Kotori: "Who is everyone again?" <br />Gryffin: "No, wait a second. I think I can take Kotori's hands and flip her down. Wait! Bring the camera back!"<br />Kotori: "I think I'll just get down the regular way --"<br /><br /><br />The EndSweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-86789449978505390622011-04-25T14:03:00.000-07:002011-04-25T14:30:09.530-07:00Easter for the Wizard of Ez: A Photo StoryLast Easter, my daughter wasn't really interested in much except her own hands (whoa! hands!), but she more than made up for it this year. She cooperated so well, in fact, that there were enough good pictures for me to make a photo story of her Easter afternoon. Enjoy!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654418394/" title="IMG_1291 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5221/5654418394_6033e0a4ee.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1291"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Hello? What's this? A new friend? (this was the afternoon. She'd had all morning to destroy the living room, which is why it looks like that. The shocking part is that she noticed the new thing Right Away.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653844533/" title="IMG_1294 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5262/5653844533_59b032b738.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1294"></a><br /><br />Ezri: A Leash! You bought me a leash for Easter? What do you think I am, some kind of baby?<br />Me: It's because you're so cute, I don't want anyone to walk off with you. Besides, look, it's a giraffe. You love giraffes.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653845159/" title="IMG_1302 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5067/5653845159_d72c040d04.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1302"></a><br /><br />Ezri: I guess it's pretty cute when I look at it from this angle. Aww, hello new friend who I'm going to pretend is not a leash.<br />Me: Good girl. Now let's go outside and look for some Easter eggs.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653846599/" title="IMG_1321 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5144/5653846599_02cd412bfb.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1321"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Outside? I like going outside. Is the hammock up? Can we go for a bike ride? Can we - <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653847221/" title="IMG_1324 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5141/5653847221_c13bddc7d0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1324"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Holy eggs! Look! There are eggs all over the place! <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653846007/" title="IMG_1315 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5187/5653846007_0631827f49.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1315"></a><br /><br />Me: That's right. All for you. Here - you can put them in this basket.<br />Ezri: Isn't it a little small?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654422988/" title="IMG_1328 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5305/5654422988_f1f8eb6536.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1328"></a><br /><br />Me: Ez? You forgot your basket.<br />Ezri: What? Basket? Oh, that's ri --- Look! A Pink One!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654430426/" title="IMG_1333 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5654430426_d56e1f6049.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1333"></a><br /><br />Dad: Here, honey, I'll hold your basket for you.<br />Ezri: Thank you, Father. Take good care of this yellow one, won't you?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653860607/" title="IMG_1340 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5303/5653860607_09628a074d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1340"></a><br /><br />Dad: I will guard it with my life.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654438688/" title="IMG_1344 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5309/5654438688_ec273a0d09.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1344"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Excellent. Now that my eggs are safe, I'm going to go find some more!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653854157/" title="IMG_1332 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5308/5653854157_92307b6cd1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1332"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Daddy, look! Another one over there!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654428012/" title="IMG_1331 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5029/5654428012_9fcf9ee194.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1331"></a><br /><br />Dad: So there is!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654431742/" title="IMG_1334 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5025/5654431742_0b03fc1b4a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1334"></a><br /><br />Dad: Put it in, nice and safe. And Ezri? Do you want me to unwrap that chocolate?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654433822/" title="IMG_1338 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5270/5654433822_03f2d95290.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1338"></a><br /><br />Ezri: What's chocolate? Hey! That's. . .that came out of my egg. You're, wait, you're not supposed to, hang on, what are you doing to my little, shiny egg?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653859487/" title="IMG_1339 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5105/5653859487_660f3a2164.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1339"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Oh, I forgive you! They really do taste much better this way. <br />Mom: (squealing) Chipmunk Cheeks!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654437594/" title="IMG_1342 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5227/5654437594_e93ae9fbc9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1342"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Well. I've checked the area carefully, and it appears there are no eggs left to be found.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654432878/" title="IMG_1335 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5029/5654432878_53c54921dd.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1335"></a><br /><br />Ezri: So can I have another chocolate now?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653867797/" title="IMG_1354 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5021/5653867797_c42459a44d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1354"></a><br /><br />Ezri: I bet there's one in here!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653865723/" title="IMG_1345 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5309/5653865723_a9d55e378f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1345"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Yes, the secrets of the unwrapping are mine. No chocolate is safe!<br />Mom: I think that's the last one for you, young lady.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654441222/" title="IMG_1348 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5061/5654441222_22b89b31c2.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1348"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Aww, please, Mommy. How can you say no to this face?<br />Mom: Easy! No.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653848337/" title="IMG_1329 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5190/5653848337_0d0d73d85f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1329"></a><br /><br />Ezri: How about this one?<br />Mom: How about you go see what your father is doing?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654447988/" title="IMG_1372 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5186/5654447988_9f52c84a1f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1372"></a><br /><br />Ezri: An excellent suggestion. This does look like an operation that needs my supervision.<br />Mom: I thought so.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654444844/" title="IMG_1367 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5654444844_696d090dca.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1367"></a><br /><br />Ezri: Yes, yes, the water is a good temperature with just the right amount of suds.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653871445/" title="IMG_1370 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5223/5653871445_c3acb50d88.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1370"></a><br /><br />Ezri: But I think the bucket would be better positioned over . . ooomph . . over . . <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653872439/" title="IMG_1371 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5030/5653872439_4229cd0b17.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1371"></a><br /><br />Ezri: On second thought, the bucket is actually just perfect right here.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5654443704/" title="IMG_1363 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5065/5654443704_4ed5503c70.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1363"></a><br /><br />Ezri: You were right, Mom! Dad really does need my help!<br />Mom: Of course he does.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5653866937/" title="IMG_1353 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5263/5653866937_a024c37515.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1353"></a><br /><br />The End!Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-57772184687469386792011-04-20T20:58:00.000-07:002011-04-20T21:39:16.353-07:00How Hard Could It Be?: A BJD PhotostoryThanks for all the kind words on my last photo story. That really is encouraging to make more, but I have to confess that the only reason you're getting two in two days is because I had all the pictures for this one already. I took them a month ago or so, but I wanted a prequel before I posted them. <br /><br />So I have to apologize for the terrible quality of these photos. I didn't know how much better I was getting until I saw these again. Mind, I'm still not great, but there is definitely an improvement. Hopefully, you can enjoy it anyway.<br /><br />Note: It was suggested that it would be easier to follow the story if the captions for the pictures appeared underneath instead of on top. So this story is written that way in case anyone was confused.<br /><br />How Hard Could It Be? A BJD Photostory<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563107210/" title="IMG_0894 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5190/5563107210_ffc6079294.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0894"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Poor Kotori. I can't believe she was going to come all the way out here by herself - worse, I can't believe I almost didn't notice!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563107934/" title="IMG_0895 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5058/5563107934_35dc311d7b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0895"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: I really need to work on paying better attention to her.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563108596/" title="IMG_0897 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5176/5563108596_b31fd6b469.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0897"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: And I also need to work on paying better attention to my surroundings. There has got to be a door around here somewhere!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562532861/" title="IMG_0898 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5134/5562532861_a94eb960c8.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0898"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Here it is. Wow, for a church it's really creepy in there all dark like that. I'm surprised they let Kotori do this alone at night like this.<br /><br />(Author's note: They totally don't let anyone in the church alone at night, especially not young women, but that's the story right now. I always drag my husband with me to do programs.)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562533651/" title="IMG_0899 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5094/5562533651_e94fa2ca35.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0899"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: She said she put a key to the main door in here somewhere.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563111344/" title="IMG_0900 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5110/5563111344_3859f40f6d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0900"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Got it. Oh, except there's two. Um, I choose you!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562537149/" title="IMG_0901 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5562537149_412777f6ef.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0901"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Bingo!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562539077/" title="IMG_0902 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5265/5562539077_69985a9f23.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0902"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Wow, lights make all the difference in the world. It's actually pretty classy in here.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562540947/" title="IMG_0903 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5069/5562540947_f03481464d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0903"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Better take my hat off. It IS a church.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563119508/" title="IMG_0905 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5305/5563119508_0fd031b9d8.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0905"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: A church with a basketball court! Kotori didn't say anything about that. Man, maybe I should start going with her. How bad could it be if they have a basketball court right in the middle?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563121618/" title="IMG_0906 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5070/5563121618_4e31c42510.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0906"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: But I should probably find that copy machine. Mom will be worried if I'm out too late.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563123252/" title="IMG_0908 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5023/5563123252_b96120eb77.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0908"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: I bet it's through here. Uuuumph! It's locked. Oh wait, I bet that's what the other key is for.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562549627/" title="IMG_0909 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5181/5562549627_24c38d8661.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0909"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: What a hassle just to get to a dinky copy machine.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562551721/" title="IMG_0910 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5179/5562551721_c010ed084c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0910"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: At last! (mental slump) Geez, it was like a three day journey just to find the machine, and I haven't even started yet.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563129868/" title="IMG_0911 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5173/5563129868_3123f5dca3.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0911"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Oh well. The sooner I start, the sooner I'll be done. Just get my bag off and get the machine going.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563132074/" title="IMG_0912 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5091/5563132074_d0a112df27.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0912"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Don't forget to sign in, she said. Right. Programs - 100 copies - double-sided. There.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563134362/" title="IMG_0914 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5251/5563134362_7d65202589.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0914"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (singing to himself using the hokey pokey tune) You put some paper in and get some programs out. You pull them off the line and you shake to dry them out.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563136442/" title="IMG_0915 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5187/5563136442_95cba28c7b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0915"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (still humming because it's way too quiet in the church) la da da da da da, oh come on. Seriously?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563137738/" title="IMG_0916 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5187/5563137738_7beb7781d3.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0916"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Well, that could have been worse. There could have been no extra toner here, but still. Who just walks away from a printer and leaves it toner-less?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563139066/" title="IMG_0917 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5136/5563139066_e606a9ce1d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0917"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: I'm guessing it goes in here somewhere.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563140596/" title="IMG_0918 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5230/5563140596_0817298b5e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0918"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Yep, somewhere in here . . .some. . .where. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563142656/" title="IMG_0919 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5292/5563142656_554d6068a7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0919"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: On second thought, it wouldn't kill me to read the directions.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563143978/" title="IMG_0921 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5097/5563143978_c67aa62276.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0921"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Ok, got it. Now to get this beast open. What the heck was Kotori going to do? She's such a girl. I don't even think she could lift this even if she wasn't sick.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562569643/" title="IMG_0922 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5101/5562569643_842856f26f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0922"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: There, good to go. New toner cartridge installed. Now you've got nothing left to complain about, printer, so let's get started.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562571473/" title="IMG_0923 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5142/5562571473_30834405fe.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0923"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Except I should probably wash the toner off my hands before I touch Kotori's clean program template.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563149032/" title="IMG_0924 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5295/5563149032_920091abdc.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0924"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (after wandering around the big empty church building for ten minutes) There it is. I was starting to think it was outside or something, sheesh.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562574579/" title="IMG_0925 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5144/5562574579_e52be7a745.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0925"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: I can't believe I've been here for thirty minutes and I haven't even copied one program yet. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563151860/" title="IMG_0926 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5139/5563151860_5e662944f7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0926"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: But my hands are clean now, the printer has new toner, and the assembly line is about to begin. . . if I can find where I left that copy room again.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563153230/" title="IMG_0927 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5025/5563153230_4a4ea55f0b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0927"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (pleading with the printer like it's a skittish horse) Ok, buddy, I know I'm not Kotori, but do you think you could work with me a little? Huh? Let's just take it nice and easy, ok? <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562578827/" title="IMG_0928 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5014/5562578827_c4dc765702.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0928"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Good copy machine. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563155922/" title="IMG_0930 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5179/5563155922_0561650979.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0930"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Now for the folding, nice and crisp. And the next one, and the next, and the next. I should have brought my iPod . . .<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563157268/" title="IMG_0931 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5262/5563157268_caa460953b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0931"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Done! Score, Gryffin 100 programs. Printer, nothing. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5562583433/" title="IMG_0932 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5183/5562583433_0ef91f6b2c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0932"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: So that took way longer than it should have. Kotori made it sound so easy. Oh, I'm just going to print off the programs. . . like it doesn't take years off her life every week. Oh well. Lights off.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5563160600/" title="IMG_0933 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5177/5563160600_8db75758e3.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0933"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Shoot! I can't remember if I turned the machine off! I have to go back in and check. . . so where'd I put the key again?<br /><br />Good job, Gryffin. Kotori will be so happy with you!<br /><br />The EndSweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-63000046673500754142011-04-19T21:45:00.000-07:002011-04-19T23:07:35.217-07:00I'm Here For You: A BJD PhotostoryI love my little photo stories, and I'm very surprised that I'm not the only one! Not only is there more than just my husband reading them, I'm getting questions. The biggest one so far is why I'm Gryffin's mom and not Kotori's. The answer is simple. If I'm both of their mom, how are they supposed to fall in love? Hmm? If you were confused, they're not in love yet only because they haven't actually said it (Gryffin's fault. He's clueless). They show a lot of physical affection because they are good friends who live in the same house. It's pretty natural.<br /><br />Now that that's cleared up, some of you might be wondering why Kotori seems to be living with us if she's not Gryffin's sister or my daughter. It's because Kotori's family is stationed on a naval base in Japan - her father, Miles Bellwood, is a military doctor on the ship Comfort. He's going to retire soon, though, along with his Japanese wife, Yukako, and Kotori's younger sister, Kana. Since Kotori started high school this year, and since Japanese high schools are more like our colleges, her parents decided to send her to America a little early as a foreign exchange student so she wouldn't have such a huge school transition after they all moved to Gryffin's hometown. I'm just her exchange mom, and we're an exchange family until the rest of her people get over here. <br /><br />Also, someone asked about Gryffin's father. Yes, he's around, but he's quite busy so doesn't often make an appearance. He's very loving, though, trust me. Anyway, on with some Gryffin / Kotori cuteness!<br /><br />I'm Here For You: A BJD Photostory<br /><br />Me: "Thanks for helping with the dishes, Gryffin."<br />Gryffin: "Sure. It's my turn after all."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636915892/" title="IMG_1248 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5141/5636915892_54bb6b5f51.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1248"></a><br /><br />Me: "Did you get that huge paper finished that you were so worked up over this week?"<br />Gryffin: "Hmm? Oh yeah, that's done. There. That's the last one."<br />Me: "Great. Here, dry your hands and you're free to go."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636337279/" title="IMG_1249 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5109/5636337279_d8f9915490.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1249"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Do you know where Kotori went? She disappeared after dinner awful fast."<br />Me: "It's Saturday night, Gryffin. She always goes to her church to print the programs for the Sunday service. Remember? She mentioned it this morning."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636917960/" title="IMG_1250 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5306/5636917960_9dde8eb3fa.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1250"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Did she? Wow, and here I thought she was mad at me."<br />Me: "She even asked to borrow your bag. You said yes. Do you even listen to her when she's talking to you? Why did you think she was mad?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636919468/" title="IMG_1252 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5149/5636919468_e8746802b1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1252"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "She was just so quiet. She didn't say anything to me."<br />Me: "I wouldn't say anything to you either if I knew you weren't paying attention."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636338827/" title="IMG_1251 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5145/5636338827_aa22fe5ee3.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1251"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Mom!"<br />Me: "Well, wouldn't you?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636920382/" title="IMG_1253 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5230/5636920382_c52fb2f8f3.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1253"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Yeah, I guess I would. I guess I've been pretty wrapped up in school and stuff and didn't really notice her. . . Geez, I'm such a bad friend."<br />Me: "If you think so, maybe you should apologize to Kotori and do better in the future."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636921210/" title="IMG_1254 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5148/5636921210_eb6438bb95.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1254"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (sigh) "You're right. I wonder if she's still here."<br />Me: "Maybe. She was getting her stuff together just a few minutes ago."<br />Gryffin: "I'm going to go look for her."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636342215/" title="IMG_1255 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5636342215_48d56c2bb8.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1255"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Hey, you're still here! What are you doing?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636343049/" title="IMG_1256 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5270/5636343049_1e233b053a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1256"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (raises her hand defensively) "Gryffin! You've really got to quit sneaking up on me. You scared me to death."<br />Gryffin: Sorry! I didn't mean to . . . I mean, I never mean to. You're so jumpy."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636923762/" title="IMG_1257 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5103/5636923762_6f6a5c074e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1257"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Well, that's true."<br />Gryffin: "Oh hey, I didn't hurt your feelings again, did I? I didn't want to do that either."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636344519/" title="IMG_1258 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5266/5636344519_8c6c437086.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1258"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (messing with Gryffin's borrowed bag) "What do you mean, again?"<br />Gryffin: "I really came to tell you that I'm sorry if I seem distracted lately. I notice that you were pretty quiet at dinner and that's probably my fault. So, I'm sorry."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636345177/" title="IMG_1259 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5310/5636345177_6056d742a5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1259"></a><br /><br />Kotori: sniffles "You . . you didn't do anything wrong."<br />Gryffin: (thinks she's crying) "Don't get upset, Kotori. What is it? Are you homesick? Did something happen? Did I do something?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636345781/" title="IMG_1261 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5148/5636345781_d58c8cb28b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1261"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (is breathing funny) "N. . .no. It's. . .fine."<br />Gryffin: "It's so not fine. You sound like you're going to cry. Kotori? What's wrong?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636926400/" title="IMG_1262 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5303/5636926400_65440da322.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1262"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (rummaging through Gryffin's bag, looking for something) "I n...need to go. . "<br />Gryffin: "Why don't I come with you? You can tell me what's bothering you. I'll listen. Promise."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636347007/" title="IMG_1263 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5148/5636347007_1821bb316f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1263"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "You don't ha. . .ah . . have to. . . "<br />Gryffin: (concerned) "Kotori?"<br />Kotori: Aaachoo!<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636347719/" title="IMG_1264 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5230/5636347719_d488bbb6ff.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1264"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Bless you!" (is hit with sudden understanding) "Hey, you're not sick, are you?"<br />Kotori: "No."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636348333/" title="IMG_1265 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5267/5636348333_cbe609fee4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1265"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (is not convinced) "Why didn't you say something? You were just going to go out tonight and print all those programs when you're not feeling well?"<br />Kotori: "They have to get done, and it's too late to ask someone else to do them. Besides, it's nothing. I'm fine."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636348945/" title="IMG_1266 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5306/5636348945_fbc47b0973.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1266"></a><br /><br />Kotori coughs.<br />Gryffin: "You don't sound fine. You sound miserable."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636349501/" title="IMG_1267 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5262/5636349501_cd076c18ab.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1267"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (touching foreheads to gauge temperature) "You have a fever too. You really should have said so, Kotori."<br />Kotori: "I didn't want to bother anyone."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636930030/" title="IMG_1268 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5225/5636930030_635e4d4f64.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1268"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: (kissing her forehead) "Poor thing."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636930642/" title="IMG_1269 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5309/5636930642_443103fee6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1269"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "You're not a bother. We're a family right now. We need to help each other."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636351273/" title="IMG_1270 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5146/5636351273_a506299268.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1270"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "So I'll be taking my bag back if you please."<br />Kotori: "What?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636351975/" title="IMG_1271 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5147/5636351975_af0c9317e6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1271"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I'm going to print your programs for you so you can stay here and rest."<br />Kotori: "Oh, that's ok. Really. . ."<br />Gryffin: "Give me the bag, Kotori."<br />Kotori: gives up and hands it over.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636352705/" title="IMG_1272 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5146/5636352705_a487dcc9e2.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1272"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Good. Now hop on."<br />Kotori: Huh?<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636353447/" title="IMG_1273 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5636353447_b207f11398.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1273"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I'll give you a piggyback ride to the couch. Come on."<br />Kotori: But. You don't have to. I can-"<br />Gryffin: "Will you please just let me take care of you for once?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636354139/" title="IMG_1274 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5181/5636354139_fe5ac5aeb0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1274"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (is too sick to put up much fight. "All right."<br />Gryffin: "There. Was that so hard?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636934554/" title="IMG_1275 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5150/5636934554_8feb79cb88.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1275"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (sighing and secretly relieved) "No."<br />Gryffin: "That's what I thought. To the couch with you!"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636355717/" title="IMG_1276 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5308/5636355717_84292ffd9f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1276"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "There. All nice and tucked in. Do you need anything else?"<br />Kotori: "Are you sure you'll be ok with the programs?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636936282/" title="IMG_1278 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5184/5636936282_df5b7ed875.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1278"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "It's just making some copies and folding them; how hard could that be? Don't worry about it. Just feel better, ok? Here's a clean tissue for you - the box is right here too."<br />Kotori: "Thank you, Gryffin. For everything. I feel better already."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636357347/" title="IMG_1279 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5636357347_e0fff232aa.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1279"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Good, but maybe next time you won't keep it a secret?"<br />Kotori: (embarrassed) "I'll try."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636358173/" title="IMG_1280 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5146/5636358173_002d28fe83.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1280"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I'm here for you, Kotori. I know I get distracted easily so it might seem like you're not on my priority list, but that's just not true. Whatever you need, just ask, ok? I'll always make time for you."<br />Kotori sniffles.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636358991/" title="IMG_1281 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5224/5636358991_3c84873c6e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1281"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Now be a good girl and rest up."<br />Kotori: "Ok."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636359823/" title="IMG_1282 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5188/5636359823_effdf2f150.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1282"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I'll just change my clothes and I'll be back before you know it."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5636360687/" title="IMG_1283 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5185/5636360687_1f1ce974fd.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1283"></a><br /><br /><br />Yeah . . because how hard could it be? Kotori does it every week, right? <br /><br />The end.Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-10245306172814310132011-04-12T12:19:00.000-07:002011-04-12T13:01:34.639-07:00No Pictures Please: A BJD PhotostoryMe: "Thanks for posing for pictures of your new sweater, Kotori. It looks really nice on you."<br />Kotori: "My pleasure! Thanks for making it for me."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608983284/" title="IMG_1023 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5104/5608983284_f476bd1dd1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1023"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Would you like a magazine pose?"<br />Me: "You're so cute. That's a great picture."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608402059/" title="IMG_1024 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5230/5608402059_f1c591d261.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1024"></a><br /><br />Me: "Speaking of magazine poses, have you seen Gryffin? I need to take a picture of him wearing his new sweater too. I need to have him put it on for a quick photo shoot."<br />Kotori: "I don't think he's taken that sweater off since you gave it to him, but as for the photo shoot . . . well, we can try. I think he's watching TV in the family room."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608402821/" title="IMG_1026 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5304/5608402821_110395db95.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1026"></a><br /><br />Kotori: (Feeling out the situation) "Hi Gryffin. What are you watching?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608986028/" title="IMG_1028 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5183/5608986028_f96ece7953.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1028"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "A basketball game. Why else would anyone even turn on the TV?"<br />Kotori: "I see. So you're kind of busy, I guess?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608404885/" title="IMG_1029 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5106/5608404885_5821e239cb.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1029"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I've got a little time before the game actually starts; they're just talking about stuff I already know. Did you need something?"<br />Kotori: "Kind of. Your mom wants to take some pictures of you in your new sweater."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608405917/" title="IMG_1030 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5148/5608405917_d5ee374593.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1030"></a><br />Me: "Hi there!"<br /><br />Gryffin: "Now wait a minute! No one said pictures would be part of this deal!"<br />Me: "It's for my knitting journal, Gryffin, please? Kotori already posed for me."<br />Gryffin: "Well, that's fine for Kotori. Can't I just give you the sweater to photograph?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608989110/" title="IMG_1031 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5101/5608989110_1d1fe64c0b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1031"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Don't be so shy. It's just a picture Come on. Let us see your face. Take your hands down."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608407953/" title="IMG_1032 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5303/5608407953_0175c937d1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1032"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Fine. There, hands down. Hood up. Now you can see the whole sweater."<br />Me: "Gryffin. This doesn't have to be so difficult. You're going to miss your game if you keep stalling. I just need one good picture, ok?"<br />Gryffin: grunts<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5609012510/" title="IMG_1060 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5270/5609012510_a4ee279e71.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1060"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "All right, we'll do it the hard way. Here! Take the picture quick while I've got him still!"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608408811/" title="IMG_1034 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5070/5608408811_1b1cd6f444.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1034"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "All right, all right. I see you're serious about this. Fine. I'll pose. Here, eat your heart out. My famous California surfer pose."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608409731/" title="IMG_1036 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5228/5608409731_626ea001f7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1036"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "And my mysterious Go Team Gryffin pose."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608410663/" title="IMG_1037 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5105/5608410663_60f5019460.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1037"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Don't forget the classic, JC Penney catalog pose!"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608411455/" title="IMG_1038 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5064/5608411455_5493133271.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1038"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "And last but certainly not least, the red hot Aeropostale pose."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608994440/" title="IMG_1039 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5025/5608994440_83fec23627.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1039"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "There? Satisfied?"<br />Kotori: "Almost. That was very good, Gryffin."<br />Gryffin: "Then why the almost?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608995140/" title="IMG_1040 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5066/5608995140_e359a784e5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1040"></a><br /><br />Me: "There's one more thing I'd like you to pose with."<br />Kotori: "I put them behind this pillow until we were ready for them."<br />Gryffin: ???<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608996006/" title="IMG_1041 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5262/5608996006_e8380e66e7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1041"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Your mom made these mice for a baby shower! Aren't they the cutest things?"<br />Gryffin: "You've got to be kidding!"<br />Me: "Commercials are almost over, buddy, just play along for two more minutes."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608996976/" title="IMG_1042 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5270/5608996976_df6f7eb8b1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1042"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Subtle threat, Mom." Sighs. "Here, give me one of those."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608997940/" title="IMG_1043 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5185/5608997940_32771b9a4d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1043"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I, Gryffin Kingsley, creator and mentor to all that is cool in this universe do solemnly proclaim that this little mouse is without a shadow of a doubt the most amazing adaptation of a knitted mouse pattern ever. It cuddles. It snuggles. It goes through the washer and dryer. It fits in pockets and lunchboxes and if your child has one they will Never Need Another Knitted Friend For As Long As They Live!"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608998934/" title="IMG_1044 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5304/5608998934_6b444a3b71.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1044"></a><br /><br />Me: "Uh, thanks, Gryffin. That was moving."<br />Gryffin: " I know. What are you doing, Kotori? I need a second testimonial here."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608418091/" title="IMG_1045 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5268/5608418091_d036e6e51f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1045"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Right! Um, now available in white and black. Order now?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5609001408/" title="IMG_1046 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5024/5609001408_1daaf6414e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1046"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Good. Now hand me yours and we'll get a good side shot. There little mouseys all in a row. What's that little mouse? Did you want something? Oh, I see!"<br />Kotori: "What?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608419971/" title="IMG_1047 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5145/5608419971_ef732d81c7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1047"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "He says he wants to kiss you!"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5609002954/" title="IMG_1049 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5104/5609002954_b3b25f85f4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1049"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Oh, now this one's jealous. Don't feel left out, poor mouse. I've got a kiss just for you."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5609003962/" title="IMG_1050 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5303/5609003962_df5876233a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1050"></a><br /><br />Me: "Hilarious, Gryffin, but I think we're done now. Thanks for your enthusiasm."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5609004678/" title="IMG_1051 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5103/5609004678_f473aaf243.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1051"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "No problem. Now if you'll just unmute the TV on your way out."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5609005628/" title="IMG_1052 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5030/5609005628_a3afb23d4b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1052"></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "You, um, need something else?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608424559/" title="IMG_1053 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5226/5608424559_ebcf00c658.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1053"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "The mouse, Gryffin. Can I take it? I need to wrap it for the shower."<br />Gryffin: "Oh, right. Sure."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608425371/" title="IMG_1054 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5302/5608425371_e97b2b8548.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1054"></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Just between you and me, I don't think he minds his picture taken as much as he says he does."<br />Me: "Shh. We can't let him know that we know that."<br />Gryffin: "Hello? Unmute? Please?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5608426391/" title="IMG_1055 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5183/5608426391_c5cf3dd51f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1055"></a><br /><br />The EndSweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-59570984430935953732011-04-05T14:32:00.000-07:002011-04-05T14:43:11.428-07:00Can I Get That Delivered? Like Today?I come from a small town. I know. You think I come from Chicago because that’s what I tell people because it gets their attention. No one takes you seriously if you say you’re from Mt. Morris, but if you say Chicago it makes people think you are a force to be reckoned with and you know where to find good pizza. In reality, I grew up in a small place two hours west of Chicago. The population is around 3,000. When I left for college, there were no red lights, two grocery stores, several bars, and one pizza place. <br /><br />It wasn’t a Dominos or a Pizza Hut either. If you wanted one of those, you had to drive fifteen minutes away at least. This little place is called Ciminos, and I remember sometimes my father would put a quarter in the prize machine while we waited for our pizza and Fred Flintstone would call out, “Yabba Dabba Doo!” and an egg with a sticker or some other trinket would fall out of the little door at the bottom. Good times. <br /><br />So it was with great nostalgic anticipation that my sister, my niece, my daughter, and I all went for a walk on a quest to order a Ciminos pizza when I visited my old hometown last October. Here’s how it went. I walked in the door to the tune of the old bell and was greeted, by NAME, by the person behind the counter. <br /><br />“Hey, Karin,” she said, getting out a pen. “What can I do for you?”<br /><br />“I need a pizza delivered to my house with sausage, pepperoni, and mushrooms, please,” I explain, while she nods and writes that down. While I’m waiting for my credit card to go through, two other people I know enter the restaurant and greet me. We share pleasantries until we are interrupted by the cashier.<br /><br />“Do you still live at the same place?” She asks, and it’s my turn to nod. “Ok, we’ll be there right when you get home.”<br /><br />So my sister, my niece, my daughter, and I walk back to my house in the lovely Midwest sunshine, and true to their word, the Ciminos delivery guy arrives just a few moments after we do. <br /><br />“Hi, Karin,” he also greets me enthusiastically, and we exchange more pleasantries as I tip him and take my pizza goodness in its convenient and comfortably warm cardboard box. Twenty minutes. The whole thing takes twenty minutes, and I have a hot pizza in my hands, modestly priced, and made with small town love. I didn’t have to give my address. No one had to check my ID. They just knew me because we all grew up together. The pizza was wonderful, by the way. It tasted like childhood.<br /><br />Meanwhile another pizza delivery was supposed to be taking place thousands of miles away in Pasadena, California. This one did not go so smoothly. Before I left on my vacation to Illinois I called what was supposed to be a reputable pizza company, Big Mamas and Papas, and tried to order a pizza to be delivered in a few days. I was asked to call back the day I wanted the pizza delivered. <br /><br />Which I did. I called from Illinois that morning and gave my order. I want two pizzas delivered to Caltech at 11:45 am today. They assured me it was fine. I paid for the pizzas. I gave them three phone numbers to call in case things didn’t work out. My boss’s office number. My boss’s business cell phone number, and my cell phone number. Then I didn’t give it another thought until I arrived home and found out that there had been no pizza delivered at all that day.<br /><br />Big Mamas and Papas swears up and down that they were there with the pizza on time. My boss swears up and down that they were not. Since my boss pays me, I think it’s pretty obvious whose side I’m on. It turns out that even though the pizza people told me they would deliver, it is against their policy to bring a pizza into the building even though they have done it for us several times before. They maintain that they called the number on my address, which isn’t good because that is my office phone, and I was not at my desk to receive such a call. What happened to calling the other three numbers I gave them? No one had an answer for that. My boss was put in an awkward pizza-less position for a meeting he was hosting, the pizza place refunded our money grudgingly and with bitterness declaring that they kept our pizzas all day waiting for someone to come claim them, and I looked like a bad administrative assistant who can’t get pizza delivered on time. I ended that fiasco by swearing I would never order a pizza from Big Mamas again, even though the pizza is good (when you get it!) and they even make one that is 36” across and will feed either a small tribal island or a moderately sized group of starving microbiologists. Tragic. <br /><br />I should have been done with the pizza, but it wasn’t too long after my return home from Illinois that my husband and I found ourselves craving one on a busy weeknight. We decided to call Pizza Hut, and I looked through the phone book to find the closest one from my house. I called the number, trusting that this would be an easy transaction. Things were going my way when a cheerful voice answered and began to take my order. We don’t get very far before it becomes clear that even though my house is literally blocks away from their location, they cannot deliver to my address. I’m given a number for an alternate Pizza Hut that can. We hang up, and I dial the number I was given to try again.<br /><br />Another cheerful voice greets me, and we go through the ordering process one more time. Again, we reach a snag when I want the pizza delivered. Nope. The person tells me. That’s out of our area. (Huh?) But wait! He has a number of a Pizza Hut that is closer to me who can bring a pizza to my front door. I wait for it, pen raised to write it down, only to throw it across the room when I am given the number for the first Pizza Hut that I called. I’m not the sort of person who is going to be fooled by endlessly dialing two Pizza Huts back and forth, so I stop the well-meaning employee and explain that I had already called that location and they had sent me to his. I am given a third Pizza Hut number. <br /><br />Michael answers the phone, and I tell him that he’s my only hope. That even though the area is drenched in Pizza Huts, I inexplicably still have No Pizza. That in the Land of Plenty I am going to waste away with nothing because California is actually some sort of torture trick where you see the pizza, smell the pizza, are spoiled for choice on the pizza, and yet, no matter how hard you try, you cannot ever Get the Pizza. He doesn’t understand, but recovers quickly and encouragingly responds that he sure will do his best. I give him my address first thing and ask him if it would be too much trouble to have someone drive three blocks to my house and drop off a pizza. As I ask, I wonder why I didn’t just go out and get it myself. Perhaps I was trying to prove a point, who knows? Maybe if I want to be lazy and not go out of my way to make dinner, I want to continue to be lazy and not go out into the California road system to pick it up. But getting the pizza delivered was starting to be a bit of a crusade with me.<br /><br />Luckily, Michael is just as dedicated as I am to the cause of having pizza delivered practically into my lap as I stretch out on my couch. He assures me that the pizza will be delivered for a nominal fee. We understand each other. Money is exchanged. Pizza is successfully delivered an hour later. Everyone is (mostly) content. I say mostly because it shouldn’t have been that hard.<br /><br />Yet it IS hard. Nothing is more difficult than having tomato sauce covered dough delivered on time in California. I think of myself as an intelligent person. I learn from my mistakes. So when my boss requested pizza for another meeting he was holding, I kept my face calm and sweetly said, “Of course. Anywhere in particular?” Because that’s what administrative assistants do. We Make It Work! I wasn’t given an exact place, so I thought back to all my pizza experience and decided on a place closeby, a place with an excellent reputation, a place with good pizza that just about everyone likes. The day that he wanted it turned out to be a day I had to stay home with my poor baby, who was sick. I didn’t want to drag her all over Pasadena getting pizza, but knew it would be short notice for anyone else to take over the task. I decided to trust the pizza people, sort of. I would have the pizzas delivered.<br /><br />The second the pizza place opened, I was dialing their number. The gentleman who answered the phone spoke perfect English, and I was delighted. My pizza problems would not plague me anymore! This guy was going to get the job done. Still, I needed to be very clear.<br /><br />I explained the situation. I needed two pizzas delivered to this address at precisely this time. The time that I gave was forty minutes before I actually needed the pizzas. I re-emphasized the address, my phone number, and the time. I asked if this would be a problem.<br /><br />“No,” I was assured. “We deliver to Caltech all the time.”<br /><br />“Are you sure?” I pressed. “I need two pizzas at this address at Exactly This Time.”<br /><br />“You’ll have them.” Sort of satisfied, I gave him my money over the phone and went about my business until about an hour before the delivery time when I sort of had a slight panic attack about the pizza and called the place a second time.<br /><br />“It’s me,” I identified myself, repeated my order and went over again that I needed it delivered at a certain place and a certain time. “How’s that order coming?” The man talking to me seemed surprised.<br /><br />“It’s fine, ma’am,” he told me, slowly. “It will be there.”<br /><br />“Are you SURE? Nothing unexpected is happening? No drivers have called in sick? No accidents on the route you’re going to take there? You have been to the building before? You haven’t run out of cheese? Everything is one hundred percent fine?”<br /><br />“Yes, ma’am,” the man drawled again, speaking like you would to someone you’re trying to talk out of jumping out a window. “No problem.”<br /><br />I relax and go about my business again. My business being to freak out about the pizza delivery. I lament that I should have gone to get it myself. What was I thinking to trust these people who make their living selling pizza with my pizza? My pizza is too special for them to do this. Ten minutes to delivery time, I call again.<br /><br />“The pizza is out for delivery, ma’am,” I’m told in a voice that is starting to sound a little rough around the edges. Like what he’d really like to do is tell me exactly what I can do with my pizza and where I can do it. Like maybe I’m taking this thing too seriously, that maybe I’m a paranoid freak. I dismiss his tone. You can’t be too anal about the pizza.<br /><br />“Are you in touch with the driver? Nothing happened, right?”<br /><br />“It’s out for delivery.” I let myself hang up, but it’s still not good enough. There’s nothing for it. I put Ezri in her car seat where she immediately checks out and drive to Caltech. I know deep in my heart that only my physical presence at the delivery site is going to make this pizza thing happen. I will be a guiding beacon and if I am not there, it just won’t work. I set foot into the meeting room at precisely the time the delivery guy was supposed to be there.<br /><br />It takes me nanoseconds to notice that I am alone in the room. There is no pizza. There is no sign of the delivery guy. I take heart, knowing that the meeting is still forty minutes away. There’s still time. Of course I knew that the driver would be a few minutes late. They’re always a few minutes late. That’s why I ordered it with a buffer. I take my sleeping baby in her car seat up the stairs to wait in the lobby. Surely, any moment a slightly dazed looking delivery person will come through that door with cardboard boxes for me.<br /><br />I almost pounce on the first delivery person through the door, rushing at her with outstretched arms and open mouth to take her (late) offering until I realized that she is not wearing the uniform of my chosen pizza place. She’s here on a different mission. I let her walk past me, arms still outstretched, mouth still open. I want to call after her and ask her when her pizza was supposed to be delivered. If she were on time or early I would have tipped her myself, probably shed a few tears in her presence, and vowed on the spot to never order pizza from any other place except hers for as long as I work at Caltech.<br /><br />To her credit, she barely glanced at me. <br /><br />With Ezri sleeping, I start to pace. Where is my pizza? There’s fifteen minutes left until the meeting starts. I call again and receive no answer. I start to get really paranoid thinking that they know my number now and have decided not to talk to me anymore. I dial again and someone picks up. I bring myself up short of demanding where my pizza is and instead ask politely when it will be coming. They don’t know.<br /><br />Why don’t they know? All the assurances and of courses and it’s fines and they don’t know? I have one moment where I triumph that I KNEW they couldn’t do this right until I realize that this means my boss will have TWO meetings with no pizza delivered unless I Fix this Right Now. <br /><br />I should have made the pizza myself.<br /><br />The meeting starts with no pizza. I assure my boss that it is coming. I pace some more. I call one more time and at last am given the number for the driver. I dial and hear a slightly dazed, not-so-clear, heavily accented voice answer. I ask for my pizza.<br /><br />“Oh yes,” the driver responds with a Chinese accent thicker than the sauce that’s supposed to be on my pizza that’s supposed to be in that meeting, and I can hear her nod over the phone. “In parking lot. Pizza right here. I don’t find you. Was ready to leave.”<br /><br />“You stay right there. I’m coming out.” With Ezri in tow, I head out to the parking lot, locate the driver, try to restrain myself from snatching the offered pizza boxes, and sign her receipt. She does not offer an explanation or apology. She does not offer to help me carry the pizza. She does try to admire the baby, but I had to cut that short. <br /><br />With the car seat draped on one arm and the pizzas precariously balanced on the other, I head back inside, miraculously open the door with my foot, and march down the basement to deliver the pizza. The meeting has been going on for twenty minutes. The pizza is one hour late.<br /><br />Even though I called the moment they opened. Even though I explained the situation. Even though I gave them the verbal equivalent of a GPS navigation system so they would find the right place. Even though I called them five times – the pizza was still an hour late and I still look like an administrative assistant who can’t get stuff done. <br /><br />The next time my boss asked me to get some food for a meeting and suggested pizza, I did something that administrative assistants aren’t supposed to do. I met his gaze, smiling, shook my head, and said, “How about something different? How about burritos?”<br /><br />I never have a problem picking up burritos.Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-71785850243864199802011-03-29T19:20:00.000-07:002011-03-29T19:21:32.520-07:00100 Random Facts About Me1. I am a middle child. My older sister is 22 years older than me. My younger sister is 16 months younger. We all have the same parents.<br />2. I was an aunt when I was born, and had two nephews and a niece before I was six. I also had a great-nephew before I had my first baby. Currently, I have four nephews, three nieces, and that great-nephew who makes me feel old.<br />3. My father died of a heart attack one week before I turned ten. My sisters and I light a candle for him every October 26.<br />4. The best job I ever had was the one for which I was paid the least amount of money. (Barn crew for a dude ranch. I rode horses all day.)<br />5. The worst job I ever had was being a political phone survey person. Be nice to them, please. I assure you: they don’t know what time it is, they have no idea that you just came home from the hospital or a funeral, they don’t know you are late already for your job, and they had no idea that you’re on the Do Not Call List. Their computer dialed some numbers, and they take the verbal abuse. Cut them some slack and just hang up silently. You’ll both be relieved. <br />6. The only job I ever walked out on was the phone survey one. I lasted a whole two weeks.<br />7. I type 100 words per minute on average, though my personal best is 153 with 100% accuracy. At one time, I was the fastest typist in the state of Idaho.<br />8. Despite my typing, I cannot play the piano.<br />9. I do play the clarinet decently well.<br />10. I have a birthmark behind my left knee. It’s my only one.<br />11. I was born with clubfeet and spent most of my childhood walking in shoe supports of one kind or another.<br />12. I love the idea of scary movies, but hate actually watching them.<br />13. I think crunchy chocolate (Crunch bars, stuff with rice puffs in it) tastes gross.<br />14. I also hate pudding unless it is Rice.<br />15. I adore black jellybeans and licorice of any and all sorts (haha! Allsorts!)<br />16. I can do word search puzzles practically at the speed of light. It’s like my superpower. Do not race me. You will lose.<br />17. I have never lost a game of Blurt.<br />18. My husband once threatened never to take me out to dinner since I had to proofread the menu before ordering every place we went.<br />19. I did not exist for six months since I was secretly driving around delivering propane with my husband. Best Time of My Life.<br />20. I can pack an astonishing amount of stuff into the tiniest of suitcases. I do all our family’s packing.<br />21. I moved three times during the nine months of my pregnancy.<br />22. I hate to drive and will go to great lengths to avoid it, particularly if I’m driving with someone.<br />23. I love long car trips – if I’m not driving.<br />24. I knit – a lot.<br />25. I Love to see the look on a visitor’s face when they come in and see the yarn on the entertainment center. Should they comment, which I secretly hope they will, I adore seeing their jaws drop when I casually say that the stuff up there is just the sock yarn. The real stash is in the basement.<br />26. I can knit an adult sock in seven hours. I can knit a pair of baby socks in three.<br />27. I don’t have as much yarn as people think I do, but I do have enough yarn to knit without buying a single yard more than 100 pairs of socks, more than 20 sweaters, and a whole bunch of toys.<br />28. I crochet too, but save that for toys and afghans. Knitting is for clothes.<br />29. I am an Introvert with a Capital I. If I lived in Japan, I would be seriously tempted to become a Hikikomori and never leave my house.<br />30. Men over 50 make me nervous. I pretend very well that they don’t and have no explanation for this particular phobia.<br />31. I am very closed, but friendly. It takes a long time for me to open up to people.<br />32. My favorite book is the Little Prince.<br />33. My favorite movie is Samurai X. <br />34. I have not voluntarily turned on a television since I was in high school except the one time I watched Final Contact. I wish that I hadn’t.<br />35. I have never sent a text message and did not own a cell phone until I was graduated from college.<br />36. I graduated with a BA in English, minoring in Spanish.<br />37. I freak out a lot of Spanish speaking people who do not expect the blonde, blue-eyed person to know their language.<br />38. I would rather sing a solo than give a speech.<br />39. This did not stop me from giving the valedictorian address at my high school.<br />40. I can sing in most languages except French. The French is beyond my verbal capability.<br />41. I almost always rehearse what I want to say in my mind before I say it. It doesn’t usually help, and I stutter anyway.<br />42. I keep my mouth shut most of the time to avoid the stutter. It gets worse if I’m nervous. (Which probably makes a lot of men over 50 wonder about me.)<br />43. I automatically look away when talking to someone. I have to focus very hard to look someone in the eye while speaking. <br />44. I lose the stutter if I’m telling a story. It’s the only time when talking is easy, dramatics are fun, and I enjoy someone listening and paying attention to what I’m doing.<br />45. My pet peeve is when people leave kitchen cupboards open. <br />46. When I was young, I read the Bible and Bible stories exclusively.<br />47. I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and love it.<br />48. I do not wear makeup, but have only been asked once if it was part of my religion.<br />49. I love to read, fantasy books are my favorite. (Robert Jordan, Terry Brooks, and Katherine Kerr particularly)<br />50. I also write; my English emphasis was creative writing.<br />51. To date, I have published two poems, one even for money, and two short stories.<br />52. I was once told by an English professor that A work from everyone else was C work coming from me.<br />53. The only B+ I received in college was from a math class. <br />54. In high school, I had two fan clubs: one in Kansas and the other in London.<br />55. I have been engaged three times.<br />56. I’m very grateful for all the relationships I’ve had that didn’t work. I’m much happier (and I’m sure they are too), that I have Rich and they have their sweet wives and lovely families. I’m also grateful that I’m on relatively good terms with all of them.<br />57. Pregnancy was very easy for me. I don’t know why I was so scared of it for so long.<br />58. I own a school bus.<br />59. I hate to eat in public and will not do it by myself. On the flip side, I also don’t like eating with a group. Eating with my family is ok.<br />60. I hate to ask for favors. It makes me anxious, and I have been reduced to tears when my husband asked me to ask a neighbor for an egg. I Cannot Do That. I would rather drive fifty miles to the store and buy the eggs than go next door and ask.<br />61. I have no trouble doing favors when other people ask. Egg? Sure! Ride to the store? Ok. Use my computer? No problem! This doesn’t make sense, but I don’t know how to change. <br />62. According to those funny personality tests, I have the most rare personality in the world. Slightly less than 1% of the population shares my personality type. I wonder where they are and if we’d get along.<br />63. I love symbolism – probably why I became an English major.<br />64. I can write a 3-5 page explication paper on any poem in forty minutes. This skill saved my college career.<br />65. I desperately wish that I could draw or paint.<br />66. I used to dance and once won a bronze medal in a college competition for my Foxtrot.<br />67. I adore listening to the mourning doves and sand hill cranes.<br />68. Fall is my favorite season, and Halloween is my favorite holiday.<br />69. I wish I lived in Maine.<br />70. I love sushi and wish I could eat it every day.<br />71. I hate to bake, but have been told that I’m pretty good at it.<br />72. I dream often of my best friend in high school. I always beg her forgiveness and wake up crying.<br />73. The dream I dislike the most is the one where I lose one of my teeth.<br />74. I have super spit (it has extra minerals in it and is a genetic thing). This means my teeth are extremely healthy, but I am rather prone to gum disease. It also means I can dissolve a hard candy in my mouth faster than you can.<br />75. I wore braces for four years, had multiple teeth extracted, and HATE the feeling of wet gloves in my mouth or on my face. <br />76. When I go to the dentist and get an X-ray, I have to use the child’s mouthpiece since my mouth is tinier than normal.<br />77. I love having my feet held, no massaging necessary.<br />78. I adore thunderstorms.<br />79. I watch Japanese animation and have not grown out of it yet. Watching that particular artwork helps me to write.<br />80. I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue, but I cannot fold it.<br />81. I have not grown out of playing with dolls, and I can’t wait for my daughter to play with me someday.<br />82. My favorite colors are black, blue, silver, and lilac. My least favorite colors are orange and yellow.<br />83. I think lists are fun (thus this one!), and I love crossing things off a list or using something up. It makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something.<br />84. I slept with one teddy bear until I got married, and now if Rich is ever gone overnight, the bear still comes into bed with me.<br />85. I wear hand-knit socks every day, and I can go for a month without wearing the same pair twice. <br />86. I had my ears pierced three times since I am allergic to nickel.<br />87. I wish I had some tattoos – a scorpion on my shoulder blade, a Chinese dragon around my ankle, and the phases of the moon down my arm. I will never get any of them.<br />88. My greatest ambition is to publish a novel that is later made into a movie.<br />89. I once knit costumes for a movie, one of which was worn by Danny Trejo. I am behind the scenes a lot in that movie and love to watch it with people to tell them that I’m hiding behind a mattress or just out of the camera range.<br />90. I find bald men mysteriously attractive.<br />91. I strive to treat everyone equally and with the benefit of the doubt.<br />92. I want to adopt an orphan girl from Asia and name her Hikari.<br />93. I can hit a target with a .45 rifle at 300 yards with open sights while standing up.<br />94. I was once hit by a car on my way to work. A truck driver pulled into the intersection, stopped traffic, and proceeded to call the police. I stopped him, thanked him, and explained that I was going to be late if I stayed for all that nonsense. It didn’t hurt until much later. <br />95. While I was in college, I engaged in self-harm. I wear orange and white on March 1 to show support and prove that quitting is possible.<br />96. I love musicals.<br />97. I have a powerful memory. I can memorize whole movies, pluck trivial details out of the air, and remember events in my life from when I was two until now. This helps me in my jobs, but gives me a disproportionate sense of time passing. My memory of an event is so clear that it must have happened last year when in reality, it was ten.<br />98. The first memory I have is of being passed through a Dairy Queen window to my older sister who showed me off and asked me to wave at her co-workers. I didn’t do it, but I don’t know why.<br />99. Every month, I get a migraine that lasts for three days and makes me feel like the left side of my face is melting. Sometimes I can work through it. <br />100. People tell me that I am funny. And crazy. I think they're related.Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-50103848670799644622011-03-26T10:50:00.000-07:002011-03-26T11:24:15.133-07:00Gryffin's Red Sweater: A BJD PhotostoryGryffin: "Guess who!"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545705764/" title="IMG_0851 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5295/5545705764_a8840b87de.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0851" /></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Gryffin!" Giggling, "You startled me!"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545128615/" title="IMG_0853 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5137/5545128615_5f4aca721e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0853" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Sorry."<br />Kotori: "You made me drop your shirt and everything."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545708532/" title="IMG_0854 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5253/5545708532_56cc16ebab.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0854" /></a><br /><br />Kotori: "I just finished sewing your button back on. See? Good as new."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545709504/" title="IMG_0855 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5252/5545709504_0030ff0457.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0855" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "You're right! By the way, speaking of new, isn't that a new sweater?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545131511/" title="IMG_0856 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5011/5545131511_015c156c04.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0856" /></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Sure is. Isn't it lovely? Your mom made it for me. It's so soft."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545711348/" title="IMG_0857 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5252/5545711348_1d2fa2aa01.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0857" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Mmmm, you're right. It looks good on you, but I wonder . . ."<br />Kotori: "What?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545135265/" title="IMG_0860 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5094/5545135265_9856887c4f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0860" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I wonder why my mom made one for you and, um, not me."<br />Kotori: "Well, probably because girls like these kinds of things better than boys do. But I bet she'd make you a sweater if you asked her."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545714970/" title="IMG_0861 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5255/5545714970_c98ceef607.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0861" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Thanks again for fixing my shirt, Kotori. You're the best."<br />Kotori: "No problem, but where are you going?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545137071/" title="IMG_0862 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5011/5545137071_4e98ced690.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0862" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I'm going to find Mom to ask her for a sweater."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545138069/" title="IMG_0863 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5014/5545138069_dbda8070ae.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0863" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Hey there, Mom. I knew I'd find you here. Whatcha working on?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545717910/" title="IMG_0864 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5020/5545717910_67c410306e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0864" /></a><br /><br />Mom: "Hi Gryffin. Yeah, I'm trying to get this sweater done."<br />Gryffin: "Sweater? Hey, isn't this your special Opal Harry Potter yarn?"<br />Mom: "Yes, it is." (Thinking: Wow, I can't believe you noticed . . . but why do you sound so hopeful?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545140127/" title="IMG_0865 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5055/5545140127_a3690c0c83.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0865" /></a><br /><br />Mom: "It's going to be a baby sweater for my new nephew. See? Nice, huh?"<br />Gryffin: Oh . . yeah, I guess so."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545141997/" title="IMG_0867 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5297/5545141997_90f58bb281.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0867" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "How much longer do you think it will take? Could I help speed it up a little? I could use these!"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545721748/" title="IMG_0868 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5018/5545721748_0382a51e8f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0868" /></a><br /><br />Mom: "No, that's all right Gryffin, but I can't help but wonder why you're so interested all of a sudden?"<br />Gryffin: "Well . . . I just saw Kotori's new sweater, and, I was hoping you could make one for me?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545143651/" title="IMG_0869 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5094/5545143651_48d9cc968d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0869" /></a><br /><br />Mom leans back her head to laugh.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545145065/" title="IMG_0871 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5055/5545145065_23902070d0.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0871" /></a><br />Gryffin: "What's so funny?"<br />Mom: "Sorry, Gryffin. I never thought you'd be so anxious to have a hand-knit sweater. I thought most boys your age tried to pretend they didn't have mothers, much less ask them to knit stuff. But, you don't have to worry. I've already started your sweater."<br /><br />Gryffin: Where? Can I see it?"<br />Mom: "It's there in the basket."<br />Gryffin: "Uh . . . where?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545726092/" title="IMG_0873 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5099/5545726092_b9aba58e1e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0873" /></a><br /><br />Mom: "Right here."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545148819/" title="IMG_0875 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5297/5545148819_3b848a8f74.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0875" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Cool, but, um, Mom, it's blue."<br />Mom: "Of course. Don't you like blue?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545729692/" title="IMG_0877 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5091/5545729692_c9cff294ff.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0877" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Well, yeah, but it's kind of small, don't you think?"<br />Mom: "I'm following the pattern exactly."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545731376/" title="IMG_0879 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5253/5545731376_f268f86fac.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0879" /></a><br /><br />Mom: "But now that you hold it up like that, it does look a little small, doesn't it? I'll have to start over and make it bigger."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545153211/" title="IMG_0880 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5027/5545153211_fdb8476798.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0880" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Sorry, Mom, but hey, it's not like you were almost finished or anything. Hey! What's this for?"<br />Mom: "Oh, that's just some leftovers from another project I haven't put away yet."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545154203/" title="IMG_0881 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5137/5545154203_3e0b819dbd.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0881" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I really like it. What a nice color."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545734196/" title="IMG_0882 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5012/5545734196_006f83b962.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0882" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Nice and cozy too."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545156201/" title="IMG_0883 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5020/5545156201_9bf04b5087.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0883" /></a><br /><br />Mom (laughing): "All right, I get it. I'll knit you a RED sweater this time."<br />Gryffin: "I'll just leave it right here for you then. Right here on top."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545736198/" title="IMG_0884 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5292/5545736198_cdd29f77e9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0884" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "So maybe you should take a break with that baby sweater. It looks sort of boring, and it's blue too, you know."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545738240/" title="IMG_0886 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5026/5545738240_713264ba43.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0886" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "And it's actually pretty cold in here, don't you think? It'd be great to have something warm to curl up in."<br />Mom: "You know. . . I'll get done a lot faster if certain someones stopped hinting and maybe did a few of my chores so I had more time to knit."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545160241/" title="IMG_0887 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5023/5545160241_a830dc2fa6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0887" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Oh! Say no more! I'll get right on that. So you just, you know, knit as much as you want. Do you want me to put a movie in for you to listen to? How about a soda? Do you want a soda? And maybe we could order a pizza for dinner so you wouldn't have to cook?"<br />Mom: "Gryffin ---"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545161141/" title="IMG_0888 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5015/5545161141_70b1390393.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0888" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Ok! I'm going. See you around, Mom."<br />Mom: chuckles to herself and tries to knit a little faster.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5545741086/" title="IMG_0889 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5012/5545741086_a740c999c9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0889" /></a><br /><br />Th EndSweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-49035204661082139612011-03-09T09:37:00.001-08:002011-03-09T09:57:07.625-08:00A Word About the DollsSince they will feature so much in this blog, and some of you might be wondering why there are so many pictures of them and so few of my living daughter, I give you the truth. First of all - the dolls let me pose them, tell stories about them, and Hold Still for their picture to be taken. Not so with the baby. Second of all - I can knit tons of sweaters for them even in LA and they will never once be uncomfortable in the stifling heat seeing as they are made of resin. There will be baby pictures, but not as many, and it's not because I love my daughter less than dolls. It's because I love her so much, I usually am so absorbed with her that I forget to pick up a camera. I'm working on this problem since I know someday I will pine for more pictures of her darling baby face. In the meantime, though, I wanted to have a word about the dolls (resin, vinyl, BJD and baby) - <br /><br />My relationship with dolls throughout my life is rather the same as with my English degree. I know that being drawn to miniatures in stores is probably the same kind of unhealthy / unproductive / unconventional behavior that drew me to poetry, children’s lit, and creative writing. I realize that the ability to explicate any poem in a 3 – 5 page paper in forty minutes looks about as nutty to the outsiders as when I knit an itsy bitsy jacket for a fifteen-inch piece of finely sculpted vinyl. I know this. I’ve been told this. People who see me eyeing the new Disney water babies in Wal-Mart think I just need to have a baby of my own. People who know I’m an English major automatically assume I’m a teacher, then get confused as to what I do because I’m not. Then someone usually mentions the joke about the differences between pizzas and Engish majors. (The difference being that pizzas can feed a family of four.)<br /><br />It’s taken a long time to get where I am, but now that I’m finally here, I will say this. My non-teaching English degree brings in enough for me to buy pizza whenever I want, and I have never once regretted it. When people sigh that they could never find satisfaction trying to figure out where commas go, I rejoice because it means that I have more job security because I do. And for every poor writer in the world, there is another reason for me to have done what I’ve done.<br /><br />And it gives me the funds for my other misunderstood hobby – the dolls.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5190143682/" title="Tara's rainbow by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1270/5190143682_d5883857dc.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Tara's rainbow" /></a><br /><br />The first thing I ever saved my allowance for was a Cabbage Patch doll named Elizabeth. Since the doll cost $14.99 plus tax and my allowance was a whole $1.25 per week, I was no stranger to delayed gratification. My mother would allow my sister and I to visit Elizabeth (and my sister’s twin object of affection, Anne) often as we obsessively counted our quarters, hoping that this time there would magically be one more than last time. <br /><br />Opening that box and finally taking Elizabeth out from behind that plastic window was so fulfilling. She smelled like baby powder. She had a squeaker in her chest that I didn’t know about even after reading the box so often. Anne had a rattle. We cuddled these dollies, and they have survived every purging of our rooms and every garage sale. They were the first. They are worth a hundred times the $14.99 we saved for them. Even though I don’t play with Elizabeth now, I look forward to passing her on to another generation of doll lovers. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5408688544/" title="IMG_0717 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5291/5408688544_d3715ea7b4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0717" /></a><br /><br />There were other dolls, but most of my childhood was spent in the normal (now non-vogue) pastime of playing Barbies with Kelly. We had shoes, dresses, pets, cars, accessories, the works. We never tired of playing Barbies; sometimes we spent whole afternoons with just the set up. There were fifteen dolls in my Barbie family, (a similar number in Kelly’s) and they needed somewhere to live, places to sleep, bundled up sweaters that turned into couches, stairs made of Encyclopedias, and Kelly even set up a working pulley elevator in one of her more glamorous creations (hers were always better than mine). We laughed so hard over our make believe. Our dolls had names, histories. They didn’t just dress up, oh no, they went on vacation. They went to school. They had boyfriends who eventually became husbands. They learned how to say no to drugs. They learned consequences to actions. And we never once thought how tiny her waist was except when we were having trouble pulling on a certain pair of pants over her oddly out of proportion hips. <br /><br />The inevitable happened, of course. We started doing other things, reading books from the adult section, going to schools with bigger homework schedules. We got jobs. The Barbies and all the rest were put aside in containers. There were times we would look at our old dolls, plenty of times where we would talk about how much fun we had, and one disappointing evening when we, as teenagers, took them from their boxes and tried to play with them, just for old times’ sake. <br /><br />We discovered then that it wasn’t just lack of time that was making it hard to get together to build couches out of bundled up sweaters. We couldn’t do it. The magic was gone. The dolls wouldn’t talk. It wasn’t funny anymore. We concluded that we had just grown out of them. They went back into the box, a little piece of our childhood we wanted to preserve. Right next to my Samantha American girl doll that I always thought was much too nice to play with.<br /><br />I moved on, trying to do grown up things. I went to college. I learned to knit. I learned to explicate. I pretended that those things didn’t interest me the way they once did, saying “oh yeah, it was so fun” instead of confessing how deeply I missed it, how much I wanted it back. I never could completely lie to myself. It showed in my knitting. Where other people were devouring patterns for pretty lace scarves, I was knitting toy turtles. I browsed amigurumi websites to find cuter animals, better toys. I bought everything Jean Greenhowe ever designed and continued to lie to myself. There were so many babies being born around me, it was easy to say that I was just doing this for gifts for them. I even had talked myself into believing that I wanted all of it for my eventual children. I was just thinking ahead to their childhoods, not pining for my own.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/4727205993/" title="IMG_0449 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1347/4727205993_1293ef33a5.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_0449" /></a><br /><br />So I knit felted hedgehogs and crocheted monkeys for all the babies I knew about. It made me feel a little better. And then one day, I found a lovely pattern for a blessing dress that needed a doll to wear it for me. I bought a baby doll, and I was embarrassed by how much I loved her. I put her to sleep where I could see her. I delighted in touching her perfect little face. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/3184924103/" title="IMG_0220 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3102/3184924103_2837a6baac.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0220" /></a><br /><br />And I agreed with people when they told me I was just wishing I could be a mommy. It was true; I did want a real live baby to cuddle. I got pregnant, and in my frenzy I bought a lot of other dolls ranging from twenty inches to five, all for the sake of giving my daughter the same happy experiences I had when I was young. Her five-inch dolly would have a bassinette purse bed and lots of hand made clothes. Her twenty-inch darling would wear her heirloom blessing dress until she could pass it on to her own girl. I had so many plans. Still do, actually.<br /><br />It’s easy to pretend you’re doing it all for your children when you’re buying $15 dolls at Wal-Mart, but I always have to take it one step further. I saw a picture while browsing doll clothes patterns of a breathtaking doll, one that I had never seen before, and it stopped me in my tracks. I asked questions and discovered it was an Asian Ball-Jointed Doll. I did some more research and found that getting one wasn’t as easy or cheap as stopping by my nearest toy store. These dolls were an investment, and so worth it. <br /><br />I made lots of excuses for why I was looking at them. They are fully customizable; I could make them look however I wanted. I could knit for them, testing my designs on a smaller scale to save time knitting them full-size until I was sure everything was the way I wanted. I could knit clothes to sell using them as models since people in this hobby are used to spending what something is really worth. I could make books by taking pictures of them, enhancing my writing abilities that had dwindled during my secretarial day-jobs. I had so many reasons, but the truth was that I thought they were beautiful, and I wanted one.<br /><br />Fortunately, I had some money at my disposal. I’d worked for years on Saturday mornings for a newspaper, and every cent of that job went to a savings account just for me. My yarn fund. By the time of my doll discovery, I had enough in there for two dolls, a lovely boy and girl from China. I bought them, and had to wait nine weeks for them to be made and shipped to me. It was like saving and waiting for that Cabbage Patch kid all over again.<br /><br />And when they finally did arrive, they were even more beautiful than I’d hoped they would be. Their faces, their tiny joints, their expressions, their potential. I gloried in them. And for the first time in years, I played with dolls. I didn’t expect to. I thought I would just look at them, pose them, knit for them, but I didn’t think I would actually play with them.<br /><br />But I did, making up histories, giving them full names and birthdays, and suddenly I found myself right back in the days when Kelly and I had so much fun. That feeling we were trying to recreate when we were teenagers on that so disappointing day was right here with me and my ball-jointed investment.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/30503394@N05/5388172687/" title="IMG_0757 by duckies_in_a_row, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5100/5388172687_53f04261e8.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0757" /></a><br /><br />Sure, they were expensive. Sure, they took a long while to get here, and sure, I know that I’m too old for this. But to me, to be able to experience all over again those happiest memories, makes them worth everything. So that’s why I’m posing them all over my house and taking their picture. That’s why I’m figuring out how to scale down a sweater and knitting doll blankets. None of this is worthless because someday there is going to be a little girl with her Barbie dolls who is going to come to me and say, “Mommy? Will you play with me?”<br /><br />And I will not have to say that I can’t, because I won’t have forgotten how.Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-72016285415061596812011-03-07T10:25:00.001-08:002011-03-07T10:25:57.668-08:00Those People at Knit PicksI tell you what – those people at Knit Picks have my number and they call it frequently. If I were to only purchase yarn from one supplier for the rest of my life, it would be them. They have everything I could possibly want, and most of the time it’s kitted up in gorgeous bags of temptation. Sock yarn, wool, superwash, tweed, it’s all there. . . and it’s all yours for a song!<br /><br />They are the only company who made me think for more than one second that perhaps, just maybe, I should purchase all the available colors of Palette. All 100 colors at less than $2 a ball. That’s 23,100 YARDS of yarn, people, and I really thought that I needed it because Knit Picks had it in a kit, and even though they offered no suggestions as to what you would do with all that yarn, it all seemed so possible.<br /><br />I pulled myself back from the brink at the last moment on the 100 balls of Palette offer, but you see what they do to me? They throw some yarn together, tell me I can make a breathtaking sweater (as shown here in blue), slap a $35 price tag on it and suddenly I’m thinking, “Yeah! Steeks couldn’t be that hard, could they? I could totally whip that out in a week and I’ll be suddenly transformed into a creature of elegance and sophistication.”<br /><br />And then, after they have your attention with that amazing sweater kit for only $35, then they remind you amiably that if you purchase a mere $25 more of their wonderful yarny goodness, they will mail it to you For Free. Well! I can’t tell you how often I have browsed their site, picking out a few skeins of sock yarn here and there that I absolutely do not need, just to bring that total over the $50 mark so I could qualify for free shipping. That’s $50 yarn purchases at one time! Who does that? I don’t know, but I bet I’m not the only one.<br /><br />I have about twelve of these sweater kits in a box in my basement that are neither elegant nor sophisticated because they are still lovely little balls of color nestled in their original bag, but the potential that rests with them is overwhelmingly inspiring. I also have hundreds of grams of sock yarn strewn all over the house, ready to grab at a moment’s notice should the perfect pattern come along. They rest, two by two, perfect little orbs of wool, just waiting to become baby sweaters, lace stockings, cabled tams, whatever my little heart desires!<br /><br />Not that all the yarn I’ve ever bought from Knit Picks just sits around waiting for me to build a little shrine around it. Nay, verily, there is quite a bit that has been knit and even gifted. Yes, that’s right. I bought it, knit it, and then allowed it to leave my presence. Sometimes the turn around time for these events is less than a month. I’ve knit thousands of yards of Shine Sport into turtles that have gone to live in every part of the world. I’ve knit silk ties as Christmas gifts. I’ve given away dozens of pairs of socks, every one a luxurious prize. I bought a single ball of white Palette and turned it into three dozen tiny snowmen ornaments to give to all the people I work with at the lab, complete with teeny scarves and miniscule embroidered branch arms. My husband sports a magnificent green hat knit from a superwash merino in a World War II pattern that has been in every movie about that war since its creation. So many happy projects. So many more awaiting me.<br /><br />This month’s struggle (I don’t actually get $50 worth of yarn a month. It’s more like every six months or so, but I have to talk myself out of a lot), started innocently. My mother, sainted soul, managed to lose a mitten I knit her in 2003. These mittens were so boring I can’t believe I let someone else see them. Plain, dull mittens knit in plain, dull Wool-Ease blue heather. Nothing remarkable about them at all, but I wasn’t a very good knitter in 2003, so I thought, of course, that they were quite awesome.<br /><br />So, my mother requested I knit another mate so she can have her boring, blue mittens back again. And I technically could do it. I still have some blue heather somewhere in a bin that’s probably enough for a worthless little mitten. But I want to do something better, something more befitting the woman who brought me into existence and had the patience to keep me alive for years and years. She just needs something, I don’t know, nicer. <br /><br />I looked around and found some absolutely stunning mitten patterns, finally settling on Wintertime for Adriana by Spillyjane. They are exquisite. They have a calm, soothing snowy forest and poinsettia flowers knit into them. They require six colors and patient attitude. They will force me to concentrate on counting and knitting with more than one color at a time. Magnificent mittens. <br /><br />The best part? The recommended yarn is Knit Picks Palette. Suddenly this pattern has been catapulted from being exquisite to essential. I WILL knit these mittens for my mother for Christmas, and she will be astounded by my love and ability. I click over to the Knit Picks site and gleefully add to my virtual cart Palette in Spearmint, Pimento, Ivy, Blush, and Garnet Heather (no need to purchase the white, seeing as I, um, already have some leftover from the snowmen. No need to be extravagant. If I’d wanted to be extravagant, I would have bought the whole Palette kit, right? Moderation in all things!). And even though I talk myself out of the white – I can’t help but think what else I could buy that would bring my total over the $50 mark. All I need is $40 more. <br /><br />I think about upcoming birthdays and Christmases. Is anyone having a baby that could use a turtle? Are there any new colors of sock yarn? Click.<br /><br />OH! THERE ARE! Look! The new Felici colorways have come out. Felici is an extra-special soft brand of self-striping sock yarn. The colors are always limited. Felici dyes eight or so at a time, then they allow them to sell out before replacing them with a whole new batch of colors. The old colors? Gone FOREVER. The last time a new line came out, it included a Rainbow colorway that sold out in a few days. That’s right. Days! I was lucky enough to purchase one (because I needed a few more dollars for that free shipping again) and I’m going to knit my daughter a pair of socks with it one day. I got it into my head that maybe I had been too frugal in just purchasing one, but when I went back, the Rainbow was gone. <br /><br />But what’s this? The Felici people are not stupid. New colors are always exciting, but apparently they know a winner when they see it. There’s the Rainbow colorway again even though the Felici pride themselves on never duplicating a color. I’m not so conservative this time – I dump 200g of the stuff in my cart. Great. $20 left to go. There are usually some nice kits for sale around that price. <br /><br />I mosey to the kit section to see what they’ve got. Sock kits are a personal poison, but I’m lucky this time around that all of them seem to include colors that I find not attractive. (Honestly? Who wears mustard yellow on their feet? What would that possibly match? Your favorite vomit colored blouse? Yuck.) There are other kits for things I’m equally not drawn to – hats and mittens knit from chunky wool, a kit for three baby bibs, a kit where you can knit about fifteen cup cozies that I, ahem, already own. It’s for the lab! I’m going to knit the fifteen cup cozies for those dear scientists who live on coffee and the possibility that this time they look at their frozen bacteria under that microscope they will indeed get the Image that they so desire. My love knows no bounds.<br /><br />Wait a second! Wasn’t there a sweater kit that I was drooling over not too long ago? Yes, I remember now. The Dogwood Blossoms sweater, a kit that comes with about thirty balls of Palette and would probably take me three years to knit. I wanted the blue version, and it’s, you guessed it, $35. That will more than qualify me for free shipping. I click around the site. No sweater kit. I click around the patterns. No sweater kit. Now, normally even if they sell out of kits, you can find the pattern and make your own kit. Not this time. There is no trace of the Dogwood Blossoms sweater – not in green or blue. It’s just gone.<br /><br />And since I can’t leave it alone and I’ve become obsessed that This is the Sweater that will qualify me for free shipping – there is nothing else I would rather spend my money on, I call the Knit Picks people and question Amber about how I can get my hands on it.<br /><br />I can’t.<br /><br />The sweater kit is long gone, but they may bring it back later. I return, disappointed, to my cart where I have dumped the mitten yarn and the bunch of Rainbow Felici. Well, if I can’t also add a Dogwood Blossoms sweater to this mix, it’s starting to look excessive. I just need the mitten yarn. $10 worth of it. It probably only requires a few more dollars for them to ship it to me – let’s face it, 600g of fingering weight wool isn’t going to weigh that much. Why buy $40 more of yarn that, again, let’s face it, I do not need just so I can save a few dollars on shipping?<br /><br />I left the site without buying anything. Because Christmas is a long way off, you know, and just maybe by the time I really need it, the Dogwood Blossoms sweater kit will be back again. I’ll keep an eye on it. This does mean, of course, that the Rainbow Felici will be long gone, but I already have some of that and I don’t have anything like a Dogwood Blossoms sweater. I’ve got my priorities. Besides, there are other manufacturers that do make rainbow colored self-striping sock yarn. And even though I say that I would only buy from Knit Picks for the rest of my life, I don’t actually have to make good on that assumption. <br /><br />I will wait. I’ll knit other things. Maybe I’ll drag one of the older sweater kits from the basement and actually work on it to make room for the newest object of my affection. After all, I have thousands of grams of Knit Picks wool to take the sting out of this deprivation. There are other drugs to soothe this withdrawal. And there’s always next month when the newest Knit Picks catalog will show up at my door, full to bursting with new projects that might even make me forget I ever saw that Dogwood Blossoms sweater. <br /><br />Maybe. No, surely.Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-84625872107094748042011-02-22T22:18:00.000-08:002011-02-22T22:34:53.210-08:00Searching for Kotori: A BJD Photostory (Part 5: From Now On)Gryffin: "Are you on the floor now?"<br />Kotori: "Yes."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzhzrdTeJ-gcIoGePJeBzw2GzLqq0su5HuYzJRYTG5ysPn4Tb3LkkTqkajwQcvZGg_5f8Tn78IQZkEvjb7oWBQMPpA_z22uDOhJ3nvEStclEAllE-vwgvrQqSQJLkwp76mSc2K2zr6NFw/s1600/IMG_0838.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzhzrdTeJ-gcIoGePJeBzw2GzLqq0su5HuYzJRYTG5ysPn4Tb3LkkTqkajwQcvZGg_5f8Tn78IQZkEvjb7oWBQMPpA_z22uDOhJ3nvEStclEAllE-vwgvrQqSQJLkwp76mSc2K2zr6NFw/s320/IMG_0838.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576766161913254914" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Good. Now stand back. I'm going to jump."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE3rWLcGXSYOVH4wknl9XN6ba-j5npasGiWd0CnuBVhzwwVyK0dXIqJSLPB7OEiIZEFpraO30ktSfmfpOsYP34N_K7sKBQzGpBl3Y9kJdYRhj6vLiufxT1DCUYb5Y11rDF1VZjpUlJgdli/s1600/IMG_0839.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE3rWLcGXSYOVH4wknl9XN6ba-j5npasGiWd0CnuBVhzwwVyK0dXIqJSLPB7OEiIZEFpraO30ktSfmfpOsYP34N_K7sKBQzGpBl3Y9kJdYRhj6vLiufxT1DCUYb5Y11rDF1VZjpUlJgdli/s320/IMG_0839.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576766152493544690" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: OOOFFF (The cat actually messed up this picture, but it was well timed for a falling catastrophe.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_Aq4EuIXKcfEshIdL9nKHdAiohKSc2TX4f56DczAcTlhpNrLuTg4cWzCvBq4chyP2vbd_lqNcBk4f69e9-nM0l51ltvGflPoIOT3oT75Lc2MDOcptuLE_6UuYR0hTc4PvOvkH4gtpD5b/s1600/IMG_0840.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_Aq4EuIXKcfEshIdL9nKHdAiohKSc2TX4f56DczAcTlhpNrLuTg4cWzCvBq4chyP2vbd_lqNcBk4f69e9-nM0l51ltvGflPoIOT3oT75Lc2MDOcptuLE_6UuYR0hTc4PvOvkH4gtpD5b/s320/IMG_0840.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576766146323441010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "Ok, so that wasn't the best idea ever."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimOvIx8_bnUwHOKFwv2hCaKhIUe-u2DJ0WXz7wCZuT0TCaSDGoSunTDh3-TcYmqcx0DzRrTcH7QPOKv_8sVFhYhIFaAVGYhVsZGPwacAopigRm1j_1oEeD2nLBk9gIa6L-D5xiL8pZ19F/s1600/IMG_0841.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimOvIx8_bnUwHOKFwv2hCaKhIUe-u2DJ0WXz7wCZuT0TCaSDGoSunTDh3-TcYmqcx0DzRrTcH7QPOKv_8sVFhYhIFaAVGYhVsZGPwacAopigRm1j_1oEeD2nLBk9gIa6L-D5xiL8pZ19F/s320/IMG_0841.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576766141633187346" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Are you ok?"<br />Gryffin: "Yeah, it's no big deal."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4yiZFcsosQ4loYpi5cbqvmWG0-72HVmz9JOV2pQOY2DJNm-1aLpTqclyfa0OcuKcml7GwYKPk-j48VhDWUQLOx_wieD8B8SnLd51FjRZaEuBbXvjWYgUkt_7iS6UrQ6-xsvUWs6DPZOaI/s1600/IMG_0842.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4yiZFcsosQ4loYpi5cbqvmWG0-72HVmz9JOV2pQOY2DJNm-1aLpTqclyfa0OcuKcml7GwYKPk-j48VhDWUQLOx_wieD8B8SnLd51FjRZaEuBbXvjWYgUkt_7iS6UrQ6-xsvUWs6DPZOaI/s320/IMG_0842.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576766139528209410" border="0" /></a><br />Kotori: "Looks like it's my turn to help you up."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfTE6OmWAM8BbEprmdaAJvumrCBEjgIdbI_i7Ief56fBEkiVG2J6p6oACC9Ktw5Higuzp1Fw47YLeHIg5VIWpCK3mPcKr52YSf4IvviEjTOEUJSvGVvz-PtImyuEDMLOYkdDe3Xe_kHkp3/s1600/IMG_0843.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfTE6OmWAM8BbEprmdaAJvumrCBEjgIdbI_i7Ief56fBEkiVG2J6p6oACC9Ktw5Higuzp1Fw47YLeHIg5VIWpCK3mPcKr52YSf4IvviEjTOEUJSvGVvz-PtImyuEDMLOYkdDe3Xe_kHkp3/s320/IMG_0843.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576767785519909970" border="0" /></a><br />Gryffin: "Thanks."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMsjlXYwhZuB92Emij3hf-W-cDaV328ZkaXLNgJGrMcQdtEmg25_tDSQ2D31c2jWGfacEfUwYMG5uRMdOviONhkIfS_L5rch5_O8HaMM4NCoAcuGAI9D8o7e-8K7YiH7DliN65mBQScQQ/s1600/IMG_0844.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMsjlXYwhZuB92Emij3hf-W-cDaV328ZkaXLNgJGrMcQdtEmg25_tDSQ2D31c2jWGfacEfUwYMG5uRMdOviONhkIfS_L5rch5_O8HaMM4NCoAcuGAI9D8o7e-8K7YiH7DliN65mBQScQQ/s320/IMG_0844.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576767781986720882" border="0" /></a><br />Gryffin: "Now come on. There's so much stuff I want to show you."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CJOhpggXixFtgl__xtP5POGHvZEaDfvK2LOxVPpgEpNUa1qOUAsWjtUQRqtTjC0mjK2NL1mlULQY9ebiowVshz9mRBcHyu_O2oyH-jd-HEZb5uKVzdRfkMO4aZccq5DT8pHrhWfAB22A/s1600/IMG_0845.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CJOhpggXixFtgl__xtP5POGHvZEaDfvK2LOxVPpgEpNUa1qOUAsWjtUQRqtTjC0mjK2NL1mlULQY9ebiowVshz9mRBcHyu_O2oyH-jd-HEZb5uKVzdRfkMO4aZccq5DT8pHrhWfAB22A/s320/IMG_0845.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576767779562636994" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "This place is absolutely huge!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsYq57lXHUBp13qBm7SVPg14l1aVulvKb13BvRSautwhLAwJiY30xOf-PKEfHVu2zKvxQO007f7-NwMUExh0ycH1UwO-9ZiMlA1aia_fuv0Cu7coNWfwdLoDfc2XFOlNMUFSFjMgGTOQmI/s1600/IMG_0846.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsYq57lXHUBp13qBm7SVPg14l1aVulvKb13BvRSautwhLAwJiY30xOf-PKEfHVu2zKvxQO007f7-NwMUExh0ycH1UwO-9ZiMlA1aia_fuv0Cu7coNWfwdLoDfc2XFOlNMUFSFjMgGTOQmI/s320/IMG_0846.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576767769793278258" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "I was really worried about you, you know."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibX86bB7ycdb7VPg9-mfum9dc0SOd8WTQKcaJXgH4RT0kPQ9bQhWH77QFgDDbJF-MOxI9xIT9lOOSqc6XEs1kPTteMCxQU6nUgQXOuHrkT2s58YWedjHbrf5Tyh3GF9uI_37CaUJt0288U/s1600/IMG_0847.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibX86bB7ycdb7VPg9-mfum9dc0SOd8WTQKcaJXgH4RT0kPQ9bQhWH77QFgDDbJF-MOxI9xIT9lOOSqc6XEs1kPTteMCxQU6nUgQXOuHrkT2s58YWedjHbrf5Tyh3GF9uI_37CaUJt0288U/s320/IMG_0847.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576767764551904162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: "From now on, we stick together. Ok?"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJjC5j9hnGmGnK24brN01CrqTphx43lYbbSVeAd4FBoOedT8Mdp-4PudAsHf6dxMPEOxYZHdcPniXgfzYHSXvY0L4bW-kZs5gbJ_mor_VxZagZDPgfiLcf9mfG356BK6eqW1PbYQQBGF-h/s1600/IMG_0848.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJjC5j9hnGmGnK24brN01CrqTphx43lYbbSVeAd4FBoOedT8Mdp-4PudAsHf6dxMPEOxYZHdcPniXgfzYHSXvY0L4bW-kZs5gbJ_mor_VxZagZDPgfiLcf9mfG356BK6eqW1PbYQQBGF-h/s320/IMG_0848.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576768954617158354" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Kotori: "Ok."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOfkVUCT8e3JqxaWJnbAqkgu13ljwXgFkYkC5zeacQ87ZNcIf_refm_rjCSJV9UCRJIPyVlPVeJuafqECX_szhNLbOVhZbpUSfJMNSiOGwnlcomMVGfXDWxWYvcapje4DhZajFCpdWuf8/s1600/IMG_0849.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOfkVUCT8e3JqxaWJnbAqkgu13ljwXgFkYkC5zeacQ87ZNcIf_refm_rjCSJV9UCRJIPyVlPVeJuafqECX_szhNLbOVhZbpUSfJMNSiOGwnlcomMVGfXDWxWYvcapje4DhZajFCpdWuf8/s320/IMG_0849.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576768951568665442" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The end!Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970290842365574913.post-55482165797891545122011-02-22T22:05:00.001-08:002011-02-22T22:18:03.111-08:00Searching for Kotori: A BJD Photostory (Part 4: At Last!)Gryffin: "Who put you way up there?" And in the bathroom no less!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKszkXJAAPhTtd-o8FtToVOoVw86uMVuOpKbK6N2LwOjyxAC2DqoD2IzABSFV6U2bph4ic8RSld-l7scQduqGPqI6lywczHe0GPlfw7ru_JYhXnxr7LmXvs3Y-dQCQOLa4ibi_qxuGMQRP/s1600/IMG_0825.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKszkXJAAPhTtd-o8FtToVOoVw86uMVuOpKbK6N2LwOjyxAC2DqoD2IzABSFV6U2bph4ic8RSld-l7scQduqGPqI6lywczHe0GPlfw7ru_JYhXnxr7LmXvs3Y-dQCQOLa4ibi_qxuGMQRP/s320/IMG_0825.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576763101186496962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Hang on! I'm coming!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxCFKWHTFrPqFjIpDTWs0Nywdz4RPEylqstrWW_5o9POkgdtvnwE-DxXs3ta0Ik6ed-lEhPCr0Wpz85PiDLgv9XuSfNbB7414iy4c3Gp8m1wA4pe7KODBCnFjUlaRpKhRgk65IZQLb-m5/s1600/IMG_0826.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxCFKWHTFrPqFjIpDTWs0Nywdz4RPEylqstrWW_5o9POkgdtvnwE-DxXs3ta0Ik6ed-lEhPCr0Wpz85PiDLgv9XuSfNbB7414iy4c3Gp8m1wA4pe7KODBCnFjUlaRpKhRgk65IZQLb-m5/s320/IMG_0826.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576763094146610610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin (Wishing he were James Bond): This looked way easier from the ground.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpaDf5aNQ3bshyyHvDwop8v6ybmQpuZjxfipdeuokcuVlzlWyGN-C23GDVDaKjnUE2baGuSCyxVAAWybF8iZ0Mvu7ZI-P4syjepC-1uZsNlE455-t0s94n7ypQUkmDcJH7NmqXah27210/s1600/IMG_0828.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxpaDf5aNQ3bshyyHvDwop8v6ybmQpuZjxfipdeuokcuVlzlWyGN-C23GDVDaKjnUE2baGuSCyxVAAWybF8iZ0Mvu7ZI-P4syjepC-1uZsNlE455-t0s94n7ypQUkmDcJH7NmqXah27210/s320/IMG_0828.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576763089352743906" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Almost there.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPK1Z05Zt08UfoVGubidspyJNYB4pAiEhdMpFYTjD0peLwdVs_Jopn8YG5SB3xjHMWuQsCXM7uh_eLA64lRjUYuxeVWlwCp0MuDaM-svQQ6PKIOSzY4kQ1BgDLgzlJRWc6niDwaU1hzNI/s1600/IMG_0829.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPK1Z05Zt08UfoVGubidspyJNYB4pAiEhdMpFYTjD0peLwdVs_Jopn8YG5SB3xjHMWuQsCXM7uh_eLA64lRjUYuxeVWlwCp0MuDaM-svQQ6PKIOSzY4kQ1BgDLgzlJRWc6niDwaU1hzNI/s320/IMG_0829.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576763082617757346" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Gryffin: Whew. Made it. (But how are we going to get down again?)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-O8_uFcM1HF2F2ylxr-ZEtHWS3exU_UNIEU-uWqAOuU3tIu9b6txkCgcw2WA5tHbu3eUMFkPkhZGT51TZxYOuWCUxTIJ9x0yZO2Wln5LGNiAbo3WN5qiyHe_ETdxI92wD5j_UtaydzRYe/s1600/IMG_0830.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-O8_uFcM1HF2F2ylxr-ZEtHWS3exU_UNIEU-uWqAOuU3tIu9b6txkCgcw2WA5tHbu3eUMFkPkhZGT51TZxYOuWCUxTIJ9x0yZO2Wln5LGNiAbo3WN5qiyHe_ETdxI92wD5j_UtaydzRYe/s320/IMG_0830.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576763076870822338" border="0" /></a><br />Gryffin: "Don't cry, Kotori. I just have to get this lid open."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigC7cul65Zwl9hJtgQxXa4NByoHqbJz6tnm5eo4PnJxfyFvexqfNdSyMnhGTx3MSdIjB74bTHe6fwVyAzVzn55wVY-63xc6cnbYKARAN3tSXuQOxCFo9SU4NnXdzR1RqlpdbmW28lLcXJm/s1600/IMG_0831.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigC7cul65Zwl9hJtgQxXa4NByoHqbJz6tnm5eo4PnJxfyFvexqfNdSyMnhGTx3MSdIjB74bTHe6fwVyAzVzn55wVY-63xc6cnbYKARAN3tSXuQOxCFo9SU4NnXdzR1RqlpdbmW28lLcXJm/s320/IMG_0831.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576764392752234594" border="0" /></a><br />Gryffin: "There we go! Are you ok?"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7rYFouAwsTxp74Yx56oTaFDFQA53V7WNv-PtDQUO4nRVwtrr11BtCuXgQ4Iff4B0ZKqloWn3TcQ-XVdKEjZfbd_6tmZ7b5aYM4jbI5Lc5Dn6elES-0iy9SDPY23zELmJk2uW4TOibt41/s1600/IMG_0832.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7rYFouAwsTxp74Yx56oTaFDFQA53V7WNv-PtDQUO4nRVwtrr11BtCuXgQ4Iff4B0ZKqloWn3TcQ-XVdKEjZfbd_6tmZ7b5aYM4jbI5Lc5Dn6elES-0iy9SDPY23zELmJk2uW4TOibt41/s320/IMG_0832.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576764385750949154" border="0" /></a><br />Kotori: "I was so scared. I thought you'd been taken somewhere else."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi08cBC-fnjhKL32krCD7O1PmTzzRGV1BvmuyVPwnROXcO1FFHBzPQCMRYE_nzPVdNjwv3CU6wx4kBnTRZvkQwlro68Ni8akf9gDJJ6fDKrQ-dFK5kpR45m7YE_hHGVpivVOENIu1k_At7E/s1600/IMG_0834.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi08cBC-fnjhKL32krCD7O1PmTzzRGV1BvmuyVPwnROXcO1FFHBzPQCMRYE_nzPVdNjwv3CU6wx4kBnTRZvkQwlro68Ni8akf9gDJJ6fDKrQ-dFK5kpR45m7YE_hHGVpivVOENIu1k_At7E/s320/IMG_0834.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576764380866738578" border="0" /></a><br />Gryffin: "Don't be silly. Where would I go? Come on, let's get you out of there."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibhWqD3dOBj2oIHWUAG5Pp3b_PiSk9vsuM19GxucG-geMdkieCXpN2HrB_QnooVD0FzUdnM5jm6xDsWgHHkrO-0m446gp-ttDEu-622Kp0tE7XwKTNxg-nkkTS5MAd0e8jy8i79PDYsWTo/s1600/IMG_0835.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibhWqD3dOBj2oIHWUAG5Pp3b_PiSk9vsuM19GxucG-geMdkieCXpN2HrB_QnooVD0FzUdnM5jm6xDsWgHHkrO-0m446gp-ttDEu-622Kp0tE7XwKTNxg-nkkTS5MAd0e8jy8i79PDYsWTo/s320/IMG_0835.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576764378519434498" border="0" /></a><br />Kotori: "I missed you."<br />Gryffin: "Me too."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vQSyaQ8-Fq0ZSS9nZVLrDbLg2esuOG-hPZtXGzNHwZaQ02uslzmPCsxmeBx9MOJMxB39qsYvA1vIqkLB1jv3-Xk_FLsPPF641PZxcrb1WpWwnCxaDvXvcSn39BiNxsqqUedA2HrCYWwT/s1600/IMG_0837.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vQSyaQ8-Fq0ZSS9nZVLrDbLg2esuOG-hPZtXGzNHwZaQ02uslzmPCsxmeBx9MOJMxB39qsYvA1vIqkLB1jv3-Xk_FLsPPF641PZxcrb1WpWwnCxaDvXvcSn39BiNxsqqUedA2HrCYWwT/s320/IMG_0837.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576764373087589074" border="0" /></a><br />Aww, together at last. Now . . how to get down?Sweetsknithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09407191722854127128noreply@blogger.com0