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A Grinding Halt

A Grinding Halt - 1

Dear Kay, I don’t think I can properly capture exactly what has been going on in terms of my knitting recently. Actually, I have been reluctant to go into it, because it really does feel like I’ve been in a dark place. A little compulsive. A little too far gone. Even for us, and that is saying something. Here’s the thing: I finished that Keava Fair Isle sweater; I wallowed around in the landscaping for a while; I folded and...

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The Cure for Finishitis: Actually Finishing

The Cure for Finishitis: Actually Finishing - 1

Dear Kay, Well, I know you’ll be relieved to hear that last night, at 9:48 pm CDT, in my favorite knitting chair, I finally arrived at the mountaintop. There it is: the last stitch of Alice Starmore’s Keava. For the record, I started this sweater in March 2004, back when George W. Bush was our president, back when our trade deficit was huge, back when we were in a two-front war in the Middle East–O how times have changed! When...

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March Madness, Indeed

March Madness, Indeed - 1

Dear Kay, I was so crabby after Davidson’s noble effort last night that I ended up in my closet, rooting around in what is the inevitable crapheap of my life. A bad mood always sends me toward cleaning up, so at least something came of that so-close-yet-so-far ending to the Kansas-Davidson game. The whole issue of my closet is really irritating to me. It’s one of those closets that has all these cubbies and shelves and clothes...

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Living on Tammy Time

Living on Tammy Time - 1

Dear Kay, I am guessing that you have given up hope altogether that I will ever write about knitting. You’re quakin’ in your Mom Shoes that I’m going to sit here and tell you about the hilarious send-up of country music, The Doyle and Debbie Show, which Hubbo and I saw on Sairdy night. And give you constant updates about our vegetable garden. Zukes and cukes are up. Beans nowhere in sight. And report on the health of our...

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Sober Reflections on Fair Isle Knitting

Sober Reflections on Fair Isle Knitting - 1

Dear Kay, It’s been just a heckuva week, between the bourbon milkshake problem last Sunday at book group, the Rebecca Ruth Bourbon Balls which made their annual appearance at our house, and the general bourboniness of the season. Hubbo figured out a way to debourbon the Bourbon Balls (he likened it to gutting a fish–a swift twist of the knife, and you’re left with a chocolatey shell), but to me, why would you want to tamper...

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