Personally, I Blame the Time Change

I found these hiding in the front garden.  November.  Rosebuds.  Nothing should surprise me today.

Our family elected Phillip the Time Changer In Chief many years ago, when I arbitrarily decided it should be his job.  Not one of my more deeply considered moves:  How many clocks can the dude with ADD get around to changing before he sees something shiny?  The number varies, but it's never 100% of the clocks.  Which means that whichever room you are in, if you want to know the time, you have to go to one or more adjacent spaces and compare what their various clocks say, and then maybe take an average.  Not ideal.  This usually goes on until, A: I get fed up with it and synchronize all the household timepieces; or B: I forget the problem exists and show up late or early for something.  It's a very bad system, but it's the one we have.  I think Phillip and I may be counting on the Smallies to one day resolve the issue by taking over for us, but neither of us has actually said so.

I'm fresh from teaching at the Nordic Heritage Museum last Saturday.  Only when I busted out the laptop, digital projector, handouts and samples, did I realize that I left the power cord for the projector at my last venue: Grand Fir Lodge, Middle of Nowhere, USA. 

I always find it so exhilarating when the wheels fall off the wagon like that.  Not unlike the moment when you hear the anti-lock brakes engage on your car, or the first few seconds after your purse has gone missing.  They're Oxygen Optional Moments: You've stopped breathing anyway.  It's extremely difficult to teach to a powerpoint presentation when no one can see the powerpoint presentation.  Note to self: Stop leaving a trail of technical ephemera across the country if you are going to let your teaching be dependent upon it.

Lucky for me, the Museum has its very own digital projector: Mischief Managed; Crisis Averted.  We made mittens and talked about things Nordic, and a happy time was had by all.

Today I have two sick children, a week's worth of groceries to procure, a trip to the pharmacy to work in, and 68 swatches to make.  It feels like I can hear that irritating song: "68 bottles of beer on the wall, 68 swatches to make..."  I'm trying not to think about it, but you know how it is once an irritating song gets into your head?  I'm taking suggestions for alternative irritating songs to replace it with.  Feel free to submit your favorite.

Knitting in the Woods

Among the many surprises waiting for me last weekend at the Acorn Street knitting retreat was the next town over from the lodge: Roslyn, WA.  Yep, THAT Roslyn:

The knitters and I explored four different studies of Stranded Colorwork, in two days.  We worked with socks, mittens, steeks and hats.  It was a yarny whirlwind.

Every great breakfast spread includes a ball-winder, n'est-ce pas?

Nancy and Jeanette discussed the finer points after class.

Lisa relaxed between projects.

Casey, Elsa and Carla enjoyed their getaway together.

Nancy posed for me with Harry, with her wee stowaway.  (He's a Xoloitzcuintli -just say "sho-lo").

Everybody studied really hard, and made beautiful knitting, and even more beautiful friends.  And after that, we adjourned to the pub.  Yep.  THAT pub.

Nice Work If You Can Get It

Don't cry for me, Gentle Readers.  I'm spending the weekend at the office:

I know, right?  This is the Grand Fir Lodge, at Suncadia.  I have known for months that I was going to go play with the knitters of Acorn Street, and that it was going to be someplace in the wilderness, in Washington State.  I've been aware that I would be teaching them colorwork, from toe to head (literally - we're starting with socks, ending with hats, and hitting everything possible in between).  And I've even been dimly cognizant that the resort was "super nice", in the words of my sister, who's heard of it.

But today, when it's time to pack up my yarn and hit the road, I realized that I still have no idea where it really is, or how to get there.  So naturally, I Googled it.  And only then, did I fully understand that I might just be

THE LUCKIEST KNITTER IN THE WORLD.

Can you believe this joint?  And I get to stay there for 4 days?  WHILE KNITTING?

I am suddenly cured of my self-pity over having missed both family vacations this summer due to book writing.  CURED, I tell you.

There are still a couple of slots available for this adventure, my friends.  So while this is very late notice, if you happen to be thinking "Golly, I'd like to just run away and knit all weekend..." (And who among us hasn't? Like, Hourly?) I hereby grant you permission:  Come hang out with us in the woods and knit!

I'll see you all in the salt mines.  I think we'll be able to tough it out.