Archives for January 2006

Hi. My name is Rachael. And I’m a plain ole sock-knitter.

I do mean plain ole. For the life of me, I can’t knit a fancy sock. I can knit a fancy sweater, sure. Bring it on. But socks? It’s like time stops and I all I feel is annoyance.

I bought Nancy Bush’s gorgeous Knitting Vintage Socks. Started one of them, got from the top to the heel and just wanted to spit. Put it away.

But I love the IDEA. I don’t think I’d ever understood it before, but then I got the BEST pair of socks in a swap from Siow Chin and I got it.

(Sorry for the crap photo — this is the best I could do in the bathroom light — they only looked good against the laundry, and I’m tired of waiting until they’re clean and dry to photograph, since I always seem to wearing, washing, or drying them.)

Lacy socks are the best. They make your feet feel sexy, even without a pedicure. I love love love them. (Pattern is from the same book, btw.)

So I knew I needed to make some, even after I’d gotten mightily tired of knitting the vintage pattern. Too wide. Too long. Too much lace already! I decided to switch it up. I took some koigu, cast on with my regular toe, added a stitch pattern from Barbara Walker, just across the top, made my reg’lar short-row heel, and continued up with the lace, now going all the way around. Couldn’t be easier!

Or more irritating. Gah.

I think I’m just a knitter that likes having to look down as little as possible, since I’m always doing something WHILE I’m knitting, and lace socks are fiddly. Fiddlesticks. At least with cables you have great long rows of NOTHING going on, and only have to glance occasionally. I was ready to throw these socks away (really) until a friend mentioned that I should make ankle-socks. Oh, bless her.

Cute! And done! One more sock to make, but it’s already half-way to the heel, just this afternoon. Oh, yeah. This is more like it. Fickle me. (And I’ve finished making the yarn for the rest of the handspun sweater, but it just won’t dry in this damp air. Almost there.)

There. Aren’t you proud of me? A whole post about KNITTING? Can I be excused for the rest of the month?

Now. How beautiful is my future sister-in-law Won-Ju? (Go see her new art (including cards!) — it’ll knock you out.)

(Yes, I know the shawl is lace. It’s bigger. Different. Right?)

    PS – Hello, New Zealand reader! Isn’t that counter on the right cool? Somehow now I feel like people are popping by to say hello….. Would you like some coffee? Tea? A cocktail?

So because Rabbitch will die if I don’t say anything about the house and SOON, I will just say that my realtor is optomistic. He was, in fact, VERY optomistic, saying the loan docs are done and there’s no problem. Isn’t that what they say right before a problem?

Lala and I are slowly realizing that there’s a better chance than not that we’ll get to buy this house. (!!! — that’s the sound of the top of my head coming off in sheer amazement and outright disbelief.)
If we DO get it (how many more days? 12 or 13?), then things happen like paint! And boxes! And movers, because god bless it, no matter how poor we are, I hate moving and movers are angelic sweaty beings whom I worship blasphemously. And being together at the end of the day. One tube of toothpaste. That kind of thing.

I’ve never lived with anyone else besides family. Did you know that?
…..

…..
            
           those dots up there show where my brain just shut down. Done. I’m taking a bath and getting up in six hours, so that’s all she wrote for tonight.
But oh! I’ve been writing a bit! Gold stars for everyone.

https://rachaelherron.com/so_because_rabb/

Okay, this is getting weird. I’m at the cafe while my clothes spin dry, and there are three really nice sweaters in here. One white traditional Aran on a tall bespectacled guy wearing a baseball cap, one orange/black fair isle worn by a an older guy who types with his arms outstretched, and one gorgeous all-over Aran worn by a woman who looks like she writes poetry about rivers and is perhaps a nurse.

Me, I’m in a zip-up cardie I bought at Wal-Mart equivalent in New Zealand, machine made and acrylic. I love this thing. Why is it that I’ve made one zillion sweaters (or at least it feels like it) and I still don’t have The Perfect Sweater like this one?

Oooh. I had been sitting up in the window, but I moved because sitting in the sun made me too hot. I’m glad. I’m now farther away from the whistler, the guy who doesn’t know the new-age song he’s whistling to along with the overhead piped-in music, and he is attempting harmony anyway. It’s something I do unconsciously, too, so perhaps it bugs me more in other people.

Such a busy week! Work kicked my ass. This was my first week on the new shift: Up at 430am, out of the house by 5am, work 6am to 6pm. I now know why this particular job is less drama-fied than other dispatch agencies: There isn’t that much time to gossip or create drama. There isn’t that much time to do ANYTHING. I knit about six rows on a sleeve yesterday. One stitch, put it down for an incredibly busy hour. Three more stitches, put it down for another hour.

On Tuesday, it was so busy that I was a little scared. I mean, I was keeping up, but just barely. I was on one channel sending out medical calls to three cities, two channels had two working fires in two separate cities, and another channel had a haz-mat response on the freeway. All in my one ear. All freaking day, it was like that. And I’m making phone calls to utility companies and city agencies and answering 911s (although I wasn’t supposed to — it was just too busy not to). Let’s put it this way: We tried to watch an hour program (okay, it was the Bachelor Paris) that someone had taped off TV. We had twelve hours to do it in. We only got about twenty minutes watched that day, in minute-long bites between calls.

I looked around at the end of the afternoon and said, "Is this normal?" If they had said, "Yeah, this is what we do everyday," I’d have freaked OUT. Instead, they looked as drained as I did and said, no, it wasn’t always like this. Thank god.

Sure makes the time go, though.

Today’s my only full day off to do errands, so I’m running around, getting moving boxes and supplies (tape! Must remember tape! Always forget tape), and then I’m going home and I’m going to start to pack. Really. I promise.

https://rachaelherron.com/okay_this_is_ge/

Just this week I have learned this about myself: I cannot change a light. Of any kind.

1. All my flashlights are dead. That is always guaranteed in my house. Nothing I can do about it — if I change the batteries, they’re still dead inside a week. Just how it goes. I need one of those wind-up kinds someday.

2. I had the mechanic fix a headlight this week when I got a tune-up. The headlight that I had been meaning to install myself had been rattling around the back of my car since at least August. (It was particularly handy to wave said bulb at the police officer when pulled over — look! I really DO mean to fix it! Tomorrow! Promise!) I find driving at night with two headlights so COOL. I had forgotten that.

3. Lala strong-armed me yesterday into changing the burnt-out lightbulbs in my house. She was astonished to find that I have a store of them (of course! They are a staple, like flour and extra toothpaste — that does not mean I have to change them when burned out. Silly). When we counted, I had SIX lightbulbs burned out in my tiny condo. I’ve been living by the light over the stove and the string of white lights in the living room for a while now. (Truth: We didn’t change the two outside, but that’s another day, says me.)

So it’s light in here. I suppose that’s good, although I can see the dust bunnies better, and that’s not a main goal right now.

Went to see Janine the other day. She shows a picture of her goody-box. I show a picture of her AND her goody-box.

Could she be cuter? No, I think not.

Also:

That there behind me and my chins is a real, machine-made Sale Pending sign. And haven’t heard anything about the loan from the mortgage broker. No news is good news? (We did get the Amount You’ll Pay docs from the lender, which made me hyperventilate again, but only until I did the math, and after that I was only wheezing.)

And a pic for La, just because:

Quick, I’m at work and very far away from any Elizabeth Zimmerman help — I need percentages, and I can’t remember…..

What percentage of number of total body stitches do I need to:

1 – have around the top of the sleeve at widest point before I join to body to make raglan?

2 – place on stitch holders for underarms?

Anyone? Dude, thanks!

Okay, that was weird. I just showed my apartment to prospective renters, a couple, and it was the strangest feeling. Yes, this is my house. Poke around. Do you like it? Do you like it?

I didn’t say that of course, but I found myself restraining myself. They asked about the deposit, and I told them, and then I wanted to say "but we can negotiate!" I didn’t, again. It’s a little early to panic, this after showing it to one couple. A couple? This place is small! I kind of wanted  to talk them out of it, and I didn’t know why. You need more room, you two! Go!

Very vulnerable feeling. All of this is kinda vulnerable-ish, though. It’s all good. And Lala just pulled up with bagels. Bless her.