My Hovercraft is Full of Eels (and other diffucult translations)

Although the sparkly thing from my last post was complete in plenty of time to wear for my birthday party, I inexplicably lost interest in it the moment it was off the needles.  Haven't even blocked it yet.  No idea why.  Another instance of a completed project who needs a trip to the Aging Closet in order to be appreciated by its maker.  Fickle knitter.

I slammed the works into reverse, thinking that I had holdover guilt from Unfulfilled Sock Camp Energy:

The astute among you, Gentle Readers, will immediately observe that these are the PINKEST  socks ever witnessed by Humankind.  The closure of finishing them did not provide the release I expected, although I have to admit a small degree of smugness at having completed them in less than a week, Epic Sock Camp Scavenger Hunt duties notwithstanding.

I immediately ground the gears into sweater-from-sock-yarn mode, whereby I wound this beauty into balls and discovered Garter Stitch.  While thrilling, for reasons which defy explanation, Garter Stitch began to make me feel cross, somewhere around the 45th row on a size three needle with 240 stitches on it.  Go Figure.

There is simply no accounting for this inability to commit to a project.  It's not as if I haven't tried, for heaven's sake.  It isn't as though any distractions (sanitation standards in a building I have not inhabited in many days, and will be leaving again soon) are pulling my focus.  Heaven knows, I've been paying attention to the yarn, for goodness sake.  I've been whispering to it in a way that would make my husband jealous (if he were here, and not busy with grad school finals).  I've been caressing the skeins with the ardor of a misunderstood nobleman in a bodice-ripper romance.

And does it speak to me?  Does it beckon me to Cast On?  Not a Whit, Gentle Readers.  Clearly my muse has left the building. 

Undaunted (or unwilling to face the topsoil on the kitchen floor), I spun.  Here is Asia, painted by Abstract Fiber .  Nice bit of spinning, but still not quite the diversion I required. 

So what's my problem, anyway?  No idea.  Maybe I just miss my new friends from Camp.  Maybe I'm raring up to pitch the proposal for my new book, and it has me slightly worried.  Sophomore effort, and all that. 

Here's what I do know:  In a world where all the children don't have a good meal and a hot bath and a story before bedtime, my tiny woes are hardly worth mentioning.  Really?  You don't know which gorgeous pile of fiber to play with next?  Let me get out my violin.  In a world where war, and poverty, and want are everywhere, my little struggle with creativity (or the want thereof) is a pretty fine problem, indeed.  Lucy girl I am.  Even if my hovercraft IS full of eels.
 

Road Trip

At last I located the perfect car for Phillip.  Yes, it was 175 miles away, but a little thing like that wasn't going to get between me and automotive fulfillment.  You see, having decided which make and model, I had my heart set on this very special Electric Blue paint.  Not because I am any huge fan of Electric Blue, but because it's the exact blue found in the logo of Phillip's favorite baseball team, the Chicago Cubs.   Having agreed to let him put a Cubs sticker on the car, I had to be sure that we got a color that I could stand to see that on.  Yeah, I know:  I need a life.  What can I say?  Colors matter to me.  A Lot.

So drive, we did.  The four of us piled into my car and headed North, to the dealership with whom I had already made the deal, over the phone.  Nobody panic; I had a trusted friend who was in the neighborhood test drive the car for me, before offering to buy it. 

After a whole morning in the car, the Smallies displayed remarkable patience while we waited for paperwork at the dealership.  Unlike their father, who is notably absent from this picture.  He was pacing the halls at this point, I believe.  Can't blame him, really.  He still had no idea what car he was getting, because I wanted to surprise him.  He knew what model I had been looking for, but not the year or the color.

Finally it was time for the big reveal.  Think he liked it much?

He's still getting used to all the features, but seems confident that he will acclimate.

True, it was a bit of an ordeal for me, but remember who the recipient is:  Father to the Smallies, walker of Scottie Dogs, and most important:  He never complains about the yarn.
 

Mission Accomplished.

Made For Walkin'

In case you were wondering (I know I have been), yes, I do still knit things from time to time, in between automotive and plumbing emergencies.  Although I didn't think I'd pull it off, I managed to finish my first knee socks, while the Knitting Gods weren't looking:
 

Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock, colorway "Wild Purls".  Get some for yourself here, and tell them Mary sent you.

Did I intend for the little blue tide pools to end up in exactly the same spot on each shin and ankle?  Yes. Yes I did.  That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

I've been car shopping this week.  Kill Me.  I think this is how lifelong pedestrians are made:

Slimeball Used Car Dealer:    "I think you will find that your offer is just plain unrealistic."
Me:                "So the price is not negotiable?"
SUCD:           "I have no idea why you would think that!"
Me:                "Because I just offered you three dollars less than the price on the dayglo sticker."
SUCD:            "Well, you know, times are hard.  We have to do all we can to keep the lights on, here at Slimeball Motors."
Me:                "Yes, I'm sure the loss of my three dollars will cause the Slimeball family irreparable hardship.  Have I mentioned how long it takes a knitter to earn three dollars?"
SUCD:            "Knitter, huh?  So is that a union job, or what?"

Good thing my boots have tough soles.  Walk on, dear knitter.  Walk On.