Frantic Embroidery

No, it's not the name of my new band, although it would be a really good one.  Instead, it's today's itinerary, here at Mary Scott Huff Hand Knitter International Headquarters.

Woman Embroidering by Paul Gaugin

Embroidery is a lot of fun, particularly when done on knitted fabric, using cashmere and wool.  I'm trying to ignore the panicky nature of the timeline I'm on:  12 days till the photo shoot for my book.  At which, I'm guessing, they would like to have some KNITTING to photograph.  Knitting that's finished, I'd bet, would be their preference. 

So I'm going sub-level, for a bit, while I embrace my inner Victorian.  My plan is to sit serenely in the parlour, cup of tea at my side, and embroider my ass off.  And failing that, it'll be cross-legged on the floor somewhere, beer within reach.  Either way, I'll see you cats on the other side.

Think finish-y thoughts for me - I'll report back soon.

*Not Actual Size

Unnoticed by me, my family have been observing me, in my natural habitat.  Campbell, in particular, has drawn some conclusions about my lifestyle as a knitter, now that the pressure of book writing has caused me to go feral.  I haven't looked up in a while.  Like, Days.

He presented me yesterday with this scale model of his mother, working:

Originally, there was also a Lego Daddy (wearing a tuxedo, natch) who stood by looking helpless but supportive.  Unfortunately, the cat knocked him off and batted him somewhere inaccessible before I could find the camera.  I think it's important to know that Lego Daddy is there in spirit, in spite of the feline predation. 

Campbell's tableau includes all the details of my native environment, right down to the ball of yarn parked on my desk.  The only thing missing is a bottle of gin, but let's assume that's hidden under the desk.

It's just possible that my family are not receiving enough of my attention at the moment.  Luckily, it looks like I'm receiving theirs.

In Lego We Trust.

The Trail is Still Warm

A cursory tour of the facilities this morning revealed to me that you can tell everywhere I've been in the last few days:

The keyboard on my desk

My knitting chair in the Living Room

The Upstairs Book Nook

My Nightstand

It's as though I've been on some Yarn Bender, and awakened groggy, disoriented, and surrounded by the empties.  Everywhere I look, there is evidence of my debauchery.

I'm okay though.  They tell me the first step is admitting you are powerless over Yarn.