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.

The Princess Who Frogged

Once Upon A Time, a Princess was knitting on a project-that-shall-not-be-named, when she suddenly realized it was ugly.  Not the whole project, just its beginning.  The Princess had totally overestimated how many rows of alternating vertical stripes were called for.  Which here means that she knit nine rows of them, when a better number would have been approximately zero.  The heinous vertical stripes had no place in the design, and worse, they made the whole size and proportion of the item sort of toad-like.  Which may actually be an insult to toads, now that I see the photo again. Ghastly.

Now the Princess, being no stranger to the Frog Pond, could easily see that the stripes had to go, and in a hurry.  Those stripes were like an amphibian eating off your golden plate: Unwelcome.  But the stripes were way back at the beginning of the now-completely-finished knitted thingy. 

Nothing for it:  She would have to Go Surgical.  Rather than gut the entire, otherwise non-offensive finished item, the Princess elected to remove the lower part of the knitting, and re-finish the lower edge.  Somehow.  Not that she had a clue what would happen, or how to do it.  She just thought anything would be better than the full Rip-It, Rip-It of the entire project, for something that had gone wrong way back at the beginning. 

Now, why the Princess failed to comprehend the repulsive nature of the lower part of the project untill after finishing the ENTIRE DAMN THING is a mystery for the Royal Psychiatrist.  Poor Suffering Bastard.

The Princess bravely snipped out the knitted-in picot hem with embroidery scissors, and resolutely set about unraveling the knitting from the bottom up.  But things went badly when the Princess reached the picot edge.  Turns out that you really can't reverse-frog a p2tog, YO folded picot edge from the bottom up.  The p2togs actually make little overhand knots when you try to pull them from the opposite direction of their making.  Bother.  So the Princess cut that row off the piece, too, figuring she'd be able to frog the stripes out, just as soon as those p2togs were out of the way.

Not, as it happens, so much.  It seems that even Princesses cannot reverse-frog stranded colorwork.  Who Knew?  A Princess who thought she wrote the book (well, A book, anyhow) on stranded colorwork should probably have known that you can't unknit stranded colorwork from the bottom up.  But she didn't, until today. 

Fortunately, the Princess has friends in low places, who can be called upon under such circumstances.  Allow me to introduce His Royal Highness, Ferdinand:

Ferdinand joined the Royal household under the guise of becoming a companion for a two-year-old Wee Lindsay.  But all the Royal Family and servants were aware that it was the Princess who really required Ferdinand's services.  Recognizing that a velvet frog must clearly be an enchanted Prince, she made him a crown of PolarFleece, and one Halloween, dressed up in full Princess finery, carried him around with her all day, kissing him loudly and shrieking "NOW CHANGE!" at him, for the amusement of her co-workers.  The days of the cube-farm are behind the Princess now, and even Wee Lindsay has less need of his stuffed bad self than once she did. 

But the Princess still keeps him around, just in case the need for a charm arises.  And who knows if all that kissing and shrieking might one day effect a delayed change on his slippery visage, anyway?  A girl can never be too sure.  Once the Princess had cut the bottom off her knitting for the third time in one day, it was clear that a need for a little pond-spawn magic had arisen.

Ferdinand croaked a melody which sounded pretty much like what you would expect from a frog who had been in storage in the garage.  But it did the trick, because the Princess was able to miraculously pick up the upside-down row of live stitches adjacent to her last cut, rescuing the un-ugly remainder of the item.  Ferdinand's Magic saved the project, and all its non-ugly bits were saved from the relentlessly unpleasant company of the horrid vertical stripes.

Here is the final carnage pile (WARNING: this image may be too graphic for new initiates to colorwork knitting.  Kindly have them clear the room for their own safety).  The re-knitted lower edge is visible to the left, sans nasty stripeage.

So what did the Princess learn?  Frogs are our Friends.  And even if you can't yank it out, then baby, you can always cut it off. 

Amen, Ferdinand; Preach on.

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.