Changing the Scenery

"Marigold" is the color that would happen if Yellow drank protein shakes and took up kickboxing.  Behold my finally-painted Loo:

Amazing how long we human beings will live with what we don't like, because changing it requires more effort or imagination than we can muster.  But when we finally do, we wonder what took us so long.

I consider myself to be in the business of imagination, and this concept blows my mind: Why is it so easy for me to dream up, say, a baby cardigan, but totally impossible to conceive of an orange bathroom without help? 

Susie's visit (and creative input) gave me just the kick in the pants I needed to get off dead center and work on my physical environment.  Next stop:  Dining Room.  I'm even thinking that I'll plan a dinner party so that I have something to look forward to.  And an artificially-imposed deadline never hurts.

Of course, I forgot how much it blows to paint ceilings and walls.  I have aches in muscles I haven't used since the Clinton administration.  And to all of you who are remembering my recent 40th birthday, shut it.  I am in firm denial of my age, and so should you be.

After the painting, I collapsed on the sofa.  Of course, people who go horizontal at unsanctioned times of day must be punished.  Behold the uninvited Huff pile-up, including pets:

No rest  for the wicked.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, the shawl is much-loved:

So's the model.

Everything Looks Like a Nail

I live in one of these turn of the (21st) century houses, where some dumbass decreed that not only should there be no woodwork, there shouldn't even be corners.  That's right.  Everywhere you'd think about changing paint colors, there's a God-Awful Bullnose corner that the builder decided would look "modern" (i.e. save .08 cents) where the paint can neither stop nor start.

As part of my recuperation from the Shawl-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named, I have returned to the four-year saga known as "Finally Installing Trim in my House".

Here is the triumph of Tuesday, in which I overcame the horrors of bad window casing (meaning that there was no window casing at all) in my powder room.  Tomorrow's destiny is to paint the walls "Marigold", and to change the nasty-ass builder grade light fixture to one that matches my sassy new washbasin hardware .

In this room, there is also the small problem that no one ever painted the walls.  That's right:  Since the year 1999, when our house was finished, no one (myself included) has ever taken the time to paint the walls of the downstairs loo.  Time to correct that failure, in my opinion.  Wait till you see the color we picked!  Susie drove all the way down from Whidbey Island to advise me.  The Big Guns have officially been employed.

What, you may ask, has this to do with knitting?  Not a whit, Gentle Readers.  I share it with you in the hopes that like me, you will occasionally remember that when knitting sucks (let's be honest, it often does), at least we know how to wield hammers.

When we can find the hammer, that is. 

And when we do, darned if the simple act of painting a wall, or pounding a nail, makes us all the more aware that knitting is a gentle and refined art.  No loud noises required.  No drying or callusing of skin.  For that matter, no permits required (though some bureaucratic permitting regulation might save us from ourselves...Imagine the application process for a lace shawl permit!)

Sometimes its nice to return to the basics of wood + nails + paint = complete loo makeover.  I'll let you know tomorrow how that worked out for me.

In the meantime, I feel that I know what to do:  If it looks like a nail, I'm gonna hit it.

This Just In

Woman Knits Lace Shawl, Survives to Tell Tale



Dateline Fairview, Oregon:

A woman known locally only as "That Strange Lady With all the Yarn" was found this morning in her suburban home, crumpled in the corner of an upstairs room.  Officials arrived on the scene after an anonymous tip reported muffled sobs coming from inside the house. 

When traditional methods failed to revive the woman, an alert paramedic was able to bring her back to consciousness by holding a skein of cashmere under her nose.

"We see all kinds in this business," noted the hero, "You hate to have to bring out the heavy artillery like that, but it's all worth it when somebody who's helpless can be brought back from the brink." 

Fortunately for the Fairview knitter, the paramedic had recently learned cutting-edge Wool-Coma Revival techniques.  Cashmere administration, in addition to other life-saving skills are taught to EMT personnel in training for the Fiber Intervention Task Force.  It's all in a day's work for the F.I.T.F.  In addition to Wool Coma, the F.I.T.F. routinely intervene in cases such as Mohair Huffing, Alpaca Frenzies, and once stepped in when a fiber fiend was caught trying to mainline Angora yarn.  "You wouldn't believe the tangling," he remembered of the case.

When asked what event had lain her low, the Lady With all the Yarn's only reply was to whimper softly and motion to the other side of the room, where what could only be described as a handkint lace shawl was ritualistically pinned to the floor:

On closer inspection, officials at the scene were able to piece together an all-night knitting/washing/blocking scenario gone terribly wrong.  "We see it all the time," said one officer. "These knitters think they can handle themselves; that they know what they're doing; but in the end something goes wrong and they are in over their heads before they even know it."

"We hate to see this kind of debauchery going on secretly in a community like this," observed an onlooker.  "She didn't seem like the type.  You know; quiet, kept to her herself - not the sort who would be carrying on like that behind closed doors."  
 

Once sufficiently revived, the woman confirmed suspicions of a late night shawl-making marathon that got out of hand.  "I thought I could handle it." stated the woman. "I kept thinking, just one more repeat, and then I can bind it off and block it.  Somewhere around the middle of the night, I guess I just lost my senses.  The last thing I remember was trying to score some blocking wires - you know - you just need one more to get that big Completion Buzz.  It all seemed innocent enough, but I guess was courting disaster."

Officials did not comment on whether charges will be leveled, but the alleged shawl knitter considers herself lucky to have been saved from her coma.  "I'm just so lucky to be here." she said weakly.  "So very, very lucky."

Film at eleven.