Chickenlips Knitting

That's what I'm doing, along with planning projects--I can't imagine doing much else. For me, knitting is way beyond a preoccupation, and I don't even know if "obsession" is a strong enough word to describe its hold over me. And I'm not even that good at it, not really! But I'm grateful that it's in my life, because in many ways, it is my life, and that's OK. I'm also grateful that I'm a knitter in the 21st century, where we can have any yarn we want, any pattern we want just by clicking the mouse. We can see what knitters across the country and around the world are making. The yarns available to us are breathtakingly beautiful. Right now, my knitting is a protective cocoon, a safe place to dwell if you will, and I need it, because life being life, it's bringing some suckage my way.




My DH has a rich family history of heart disease. Both his parents have had heart trouble, and it has claimed the lives of two of his three brothers. And now, at the age of 47, J. has some possible blockage. Naturally, the tests are still ongoing. All we know for certain, after his stress test, is that there is an "abnormality when the heart muscle is vigorously working." (And we let doctors get away with this shit?!) Next up is an echocardiogram, and if that's inconclusive, they'll have to inject dye-- sorry, can't come up with the name for that procedure. He's been put on a statin drug to lower his cholesterol, has been given a prescription for nitroglycerine, and ordered to drop 18 lbs. Now as we women know, we have to practically kill ourselves to accomplish that, but men--at least the ones in my life, my husband, dad and brother--seem to be able to do that in a nanosecond. My husband will, I know, because not only does he exercise, but he's put himself on a very strict diet, avoiding fat and salt. He doesn't smoke or drink. But still, the evidence is in our faces now, and it's scary.




I've been writing this blog for a year, yet I still hesitate to put personal stuff on here, because my credo as a blogger/writer is, "only write what you would want to read." I know people come here to look at my FO's and WIP's, (glad we don't have to explain such anagrams, or something like the Knitting Olympics, to women of a century ago who had to knit for the survival of their families,) to see my yarn du jour, and have a chuckle. Yet the knitblogs are rife with life in all its forms from the beautiful to the bizarre, so I'll give myself license to vent when I need to.




Christmas in July





I bought myself a couple of nice pressies recently.

I figured it was about time I got myself a really good sock book, and I do like this one. I've started a sock with a six-stitch pattern repeat, the slip stitch rib:

Please bear in mind that my blasted (read: cheap) camera distorts purple and makes it look blue. This is Claudia Handpainted fingering weight in "Purple Earth," a treat from Stitches West. It's only two rows, a K3 P3 rib and the slip stitch row. Should be a quick knit, too. I pick this up when I need a breather from the Cherry Bomb, which is about 2/3 done. Next in the sock queue is the Monkey, and I plan to make them with this:

Was going to use the Purple Earth for Monkeys, but it's so saturated with color that I think it'd obscure the lace pattern.

I've been a bad Shawl Ministry member lately--I put aside the stole I was working on in the TLC Cotton Plus, I guess I just got bored with it. And I did something which I still can't believe. Last month, I told a fellow knitter I'd finish her shawl, knowing full well I didn't want to, but she was tired of it and really seemed to want to hand it off to me...co-dependent to the core, at your service. At least we have several shawls ready, should there be a need. Tomorrow is the monthly session, but it's also the last day J. and I have free before our daughter comes home from grandma's on Sunday, and the weather being warm, sunny and gorgeous, we've planned a mountain hike. Just the two of us--not even Buster and Jimmy are invited.

I'm going to stroll in the mountains, and not look back.