Delusional, As Usual

So there I was in the yarn store, because, you know, Tuesday. And I'm asking the nice lady, is there any hand dyed sportweight superwash in a soft gray for my brother-in-law's Christmas present. Sure, she says, right over here, etc etc and what are you making?

Oh, do you know the DeathFlake chart from Ravelry? Yes, she does. Well I'm making a hat for my BIL, who, though knitworthy, has somehow never received knitting from me.

I love, she says, that you are starting a stranded colorwork project four days before Christmas.

Sound of needle skipping off record.

Four days? I say.

Huh. 

Turns out there's this whole time limit notion around Christmas Knitting. 

Now I've knit on deadlines, like, A LOT. It seems like that experience would have informed my gift-giving decision regarding my BIL. But no. It did not. I literally did not consider, even briefly, the time available between my clever idea to knit a hat, and the day on which said hat would be required.

Nor did I consider, not even for a minute, that my Brother In Law, though very much a decent sort, is a non-knitter. A non-knitter for whom the presentation of a box of unknit yarn and a heartfelt promise would be confusing and bewildering.

So, intrusions of reality notwithstanding, I'm knitting it. What care I for the laws of time and space? Since when is a knitter of my calibre (*snort*) governed by the petty idiosyncrasies of the static universe?

Yeah, I know: Good Luck with that.

Like any cunning plan that begins with the phrase "Oh, I'll Just...", Operation Dread Pirate Jeffery has commenced, hand dyed gray yarn and all:

Ain't it swell? Dig that sexy Malabrigo Arryo in "VAA" in the background! And the gray one is Black Trillium "Little Mouse". These yarns are very friendly to each other, and to stranded colorwork, which is kind of unusual for superwash, but I'm not telling the yarn that. I'm loving this knit so much I kinda don't care how long it takes. I'm just gonna sit here under the Christmas tree, defiantly knitting, and denying completely that time is running out.

Watch this space.

Wee Lass

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Paisley has been my Supervisor and constant companion since she was born, in 2004. She has changed me, as best friends do, in ways I cannot measure.

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She defined childhood for Lindsay and Campbell.

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She introduced us to Bailey, and happily invited him to share her home and family.

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She effortlessly taught us how to appreciate the best things: Snacks, Love, Companionship and what it means to belong to the Pack.

She helped me through the writing of five (almost six) books about knitting. She said to tell you you're welcome.

And she liked everything I like: Knitting, Snuggling, and being with the ones I love.

Last Sunday she refused to eat for the only time in her whole life. She moved stiffly and didn't want to go walkies. I stayed up all night with her. And in the wee hours of Monday morning, she sighed a big sigh and went to Heaven. Straight from my embrace to the arms of the angels. 

She never did learn how to "Stay".

When you love and lose a pet it feels like the best parts of you go with them. Like the lights will never come on again. And your heart is a little weaker along its fault lines.

Without Paisley here to tell us what we should do, all the Huffs are kind of wandering around and looking at each other. Morning walkies happen whenever they want, instead of on the strict schedule of Paisley's insistent squeak and wag. Six o'clock dinnertime arrives without anyone going "Aroo" to tell us to make with the kibbles, already. Ten PM comes and goes, and nobody reminds us about bedtime by loudly bouncing up the stairs.

We all keep looking for her in every corner. And the house is so very, very quiet. Bailey was never much of a talker, preferring to let Paisley sound off on his behalf. He is possibly the saddest of us all; without another dog for the first time in his life.

So we are leaning into the sorrow, the best way we know how. Holding each other close, and whispering to Paisley that we'll be with her again one day. Remembering all of the good and happy things she gave to us in her brief little life. And being thankful that we got to share it with her.

Advent-Ageous

Last August, I missed the boat by failing to prepare the Christmas Pudding. Again. See, I was informed by my Christmas Pudding Teacher that to do it properly, you really need to have the thing put together and resting comfortably in the deep freeze by the end of summer, or there's no point bothering. I use this wisdom as an excuse, annually, to neglect making the Christmas Pudding. To those of you who are better-organized, Shut it. No one likes a braggart.

However, since the pudding mold was lying fallow (again), today I seized the opportunity to press it into a different kind of service:

This year, I made it into an Advent wreath. By adding a couple of pounds of dry beans, four candles, and some filched greenery, I have redeemed myself in time for Christmas.

Today is the first Sunday in Advent, and I'm reminding you in time to do the same. Any four candles will do, and stealing evergreen fronds in the name of Jesus is its own kind of religious observance; try it and see if you don't agree.

Light the first candle tonight, and read a few lines of scripture. Here's a place to start if you need help: Advent Devotions

If you're feeling wiped out after the hubbub of Thanksgiving, or twitching under the pressure of all those shopping incentives, try a little reflection on the reason for the season. It always renews my feelings of hope. 

God Bless us, Every One.