No Man is an Island

But some knitters are.  Here at my sister's house, I'm surrounded by Muggles, Mortals, and Misfits:  Not a knitter in the bunch, save yours truly.

The other night I finished a mitten and held it up with pride for those assembled to admire.  I knew better than to do this, but just like a dog turning around three times before laying down, it is flatly impossible for me to finish a knitted item and not hold it up to show those around me "Lookit what I made!".  Postal employees, the gang in line at the pharmacy, and even gas station attendants have been witness to this behavior from me.  And they all manage to say something nice, even if it's because they're afraid of provoking the weirdo with the pointy needles in her fists.

Not so, my family.

My nephew Adam said the mitten looked like a barbecue oven mitt.

My sister Susan, assuming the object she had just stuffed her hand into was some sort of sub-par hand puppet, suggested that Googly-Eyes might help its looks.

My niece Sarah at least liked the color, which was welcome enthusiasm, but had to recommend that more fingers be added, since she was very sure that gloves always have separate compartments for each digit.  I explained that it was a mitten, and as such, has only one separate compartment, for the thumb, so all the others are forced to share.  I should have anticipated her response:

"So how can you knit with these on?"

God I miss Knit Nite.

Mobile Office

The view from my desk has changed somewhat:

The beautiful and mysterious Puget Sound, as seen from the living room of my sister's house, where my Mom lives, and where the international HQ of Mary Scott Huff Hand Knitter is located today.

The accommodations are luxurious, here on the floor of the spare room:
 

That's the trusty pink laptop, stationed on a commandeered occasional table, which is only about 18" high.  That means that I'm working sitting on the floor.  Deluxe Ergonomics notwithstanding, I'm lucky to be able to pack up the whole works and take my show on the road.

My mom has had a bout with some sort of mystery infection which landed her in the hospital (Thank you, God for the availability of health care).  Now that she's back at home, the siblings and I thought we could all rest better if somebody were with her during the day, while she recuperates.  Being the only one whose job is portable, I volunteered to hang with the Mom.  Nice work, if you can get it.  Scenery is kinda nice, even if the weather isn't.  And of course, the company's hard to beat. 

The funny thing about packing up the yarn studio and office gear is the certain knowledge that whatever I did bring, I won't need, and the mathematical certainty that the most important thing I could possibly require has been left behind:

Umbrella Swift and Heavy-Duty Ball-Winder?  Brought 'em.  Archived digital charts from the sweater I designed for Lindsay's fourth birthday that I'm retooling to submit for publication this week?  Whereabouts Unknown.  Probably on some unlabeled USB drive in the bottom of a desk drawer at home.  Bother.  But of course, that's exactly how it had to happen. 

I'm telling myself it's a fun adventure:  What will we do today?  Propped Mom up in front of the laptop with me so she could watch the remote diagnosis while a technician in parts unknown removed a virus.  She was mesmerized while I explained that another person three-quarters of the way around the world was moving my mouse.  Lucky for me, Mom's a good sport, not to mention a cheap date.  Later we have plans for her to watch me knit a mitten.  Somebody stop us before the excitement launches into overdrive.

I thought you'd like to know that the knitting is under control, and the universe remains unchanged, even though the office has relocated.  If you need an update, search the skies for my Bat Signal.  It's a big ball of yarn, silhouetted against the night sky.  Then just check in with me, here at Headquarters.

Badass

The sun came out, so I took Growly outta mothballs.  She looked like I felt:  Kinda Dusty and in need of spit and polish.  

Dust on the bike after a whole winter in the garage is one thing, but the boots, too?  No no no my friends, that simply will not stand.  The bike and the gear can have a day of beauty, even when the rider can't.

She cleans up pretty good.  I felt better already.  Funny how physically blowing out the cobwebs can give you a new outlook.

The last step in Growly's beauty routine is to polish up her lucky Anti-Gremlin bell.  Done and Done, and off we went.  Where, you ask?  Why, the yarn store, of course!

Happy Birthday to Me.