Sweet Sassy What?
May 23, 2007
Sometimes I think you’re a regular person, who talks, you know, regular? Then you say something like “sweet sassy molassy.” What are we, moseying now? Land o’ Goshen! Sakes alive! Whatever!
Anyway, I’m back from Omaha (where people mostly talk regular, except for drinking pop and carrying groceries in sacks and calling that lid on the house a ‘ruff’). All is well in Omaha. One highlight was a fambly block party in honor of a young cousin’s high school graduation. The entertainment at this righteous affair included this:
Yes. That’s me, called up to croon ‘Crazy’ by request of Most Moisturized Mom, who likes to invoke the spirit of Patsy at life-cycle celebrations. I was working on zero alcohol, people, in broad daylight. If you are in the Omaha area, and find yourself in need of professional karaoke services, I highly recommend Brandy & Barry-oke. Barry can really sing, if you are in need of a duet partner, and the playlist is deep and wide.
The list included Fraggle Rock and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. (This group also sang “American Pie”. Which is a very long song.)
Here’s Most Moisturized Mom and her brothers proving that it’s A DAMNABLE LIE that humans don’t get cuter with age. That’s Uncle Terry on the left (en route to a Jimmy Buffett impersonator throwdown), and Uncle Pauly on the right. (In another episode of John Deere Presents: Uncle Pauly’s Tales of the Highway Maintain-ance Crew, Mom recently drove a rental car out on the highway looking for Uncle Pauly so she could tell him about a minor family emergency. Uncle Pauly saw her pull up beside his truck and thought, “What’s this little old lady want?” Immediately followed by “Crap! It’s my sister!”)
In terms of knitting, I do not have a lot to show. As you know, I have been preoccupied with steaming and manicuring and otherwise grooming handknits to show their best selves –their immortal souls–for the camera. But I managed to squeeze in a touch of mitering.
Look! It’s Big Miter! It was really fun when it got down to 72 stitches and it seemed like a normal miter again, zipping along.
According to my Susan Bates MiterChek (shown above–it’s a pain hauling that thing around in my knitting bag), Big Miter is exactly 5 normal miters square, or the equivalent of 25 normal miters. But I can guaran-frickin’-tee you that I could knit 25 normal miters much faster than Big Miter. It’s all explained by the Psychology of Knitting. Things that seem to go faster, do go faster, even if you have to do a lot more of them. Big Miter was an arduous thing, a lengthy thing, and the striping was frequent. Now I have to figure out how to frame it up and make it into something for Dotty Chair to wear. All suggestions welcome, as I am lacking my usual fierce mojo on this one. I am apt to commit something boring. Big Miter deserves better. It’s so big, you know.
The Dog Ate Our Handwork
I’m so happy that I was offline the entire time your suitcase was missing in action. Just reading about it, even knowing the happy ending, was making me queasy. What were we thinking? If a handknit falls in the forest, and nobody photographs it, did it have correct row gauge?