Rachael

Still fiddling with the site and its new name. It’ll take a few days to go-go all the way over to yarnagogo, but with BRENNA’S awesome help, it’ll happen. Seriously, typepad users? How much do we love her, our technical support? I haven’t yet asked her a question to which the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious once I understood it, but she never makes me feel stooopid. Not like the domain registrar’s customer service dude today, with his heavy sighs and unwillingness to listen to me (and his ultimately wrong answers). And Brenna, I swear, works about 27 hours a day, 8 days a week. Props to you, gal. To Brenna’s boss: Brenna needs a raise. A big one.

I added a kitty up top to the new graphic, see?

Such a dork, me. Mwah.

Dude. Weird, huh? You like? I needed a clean-up, a little change. It’s like reorganizing the cupboards – addictive late at night.

Yarnagogo.com. That’s me now. You’ll see me around blogland with my new name. You can update your links, or you can leave ‘em (rachaelherron.com will also get to me). I’ll always be in a glass house, but I was ready to honor both parts of me: the writing and the knitting. I feel like I’ve spent too much time lately being a knitter. I’m forgetting that primarily, I’m a writer. My little writing/yarn gal up there will serve to remind me that the yarn is behind the desk, ready to be pulled out and played with after the writing is done for the day. I tell yarns, and I knit them. In that order.

You know?

Camping rocked. Y’all were right, I got there and had a magnificent time. Rippin’ and roarin’, both were going on. For the first time ever on a camping trip, I wasn’t mocked for knitting; I was actually joined by one gal. And two or three others did knit and regretting not bringing it along. I didn’t get much done. There was a lot of beer. And I mean a LOT of beer. I’m detoxifying now. Lordy. Somehow I missed getting an official hangover, but I have that old college ache in my knees. You know that muscle pain you get? After that much alcohol? No? You forgot? Yeah, I had too. I am 31, not 21. One doesn’t process the booze the same way, thank god. No one could keep up that pace. Or at least, no one should. Happy to be home, happy to be alone in my little house. No camping photos. They could be considered quite incriminating.

And thanks for the tank compliments! To several requests for the pattern, I tell you, I ain’t got one, since I ripped off both top and bottom from different patterns. But here’s the idea:

Find a lace pattern you like. Swatch, find your gauge. Figure out how big around you want it to be (I used my bust measurment) and futz (the official term) with the numbers until the lace matches up (or don’t, like I did, and just throw in some yarn overs under the arm every once in a while. Makeshift lace). Knit straight up, no shaping, it is lace after all, for about 12 inches. Then use the shapely tank top pattern (thanks, Joan!), knitting stockinette stitch for a couple of inches and then jumping in at the armhole part. Put in 2 yarn over/decrease combos of your choosing in the middle of the tank after the lace section, every four rows or so. Enough to run a tie through, that’s all y’need. That’s it. I didn’t even finish the underarms, cause they don’t matter. You know? Try it! Let me know how it goes.

This is going to sound stupid and very whiney, but I don’t wanna go camping! Don’t wanna! I want to sit on my ass on my couch, alone, and do nothing for three days. Can’t, because not only did I say I’d go camping with a bunch of friends (which I would have no problem flaking on), but I told two friends in a bad housing situation that they could house-sit for me. They’d be devastated if I told them I didn’t need them. They’ve been living for playing house here, and they deserve to.

Whinge. Poor me. What a dilemma. Don’t want to go play. What a baby I am.

Just grumpy as all hell. And lazy to boot. I’ll show the pic of my finished Lacy Thingie to try to cheer me up. I used a feathery lace pattern on the bottom (from the bottom of Bella) and then just did a Shapely Tank-ish top, throwing in one lace repeat in which to lace the ribbon. I kinda made it to camp in, but it’s WAY too fancy.

Specs: Soy Silk, from the boys, color unknown. The only green/yellow one (it wasn’t printed on the ball). 3 skeins, just. Gauge: 5st/in. Needles: 5US. I do love that it’s made from leftover tofu. That’s kinda cool. And it’s softer than it has any right to be.

I did cast on for yet another Chickami in green for mindless camping knitting. As soon as I get there, I’ll have a rip-roaring ball (with more roaring than ripping, I hope). I know that. But right now I’m just throwing a little haven’t-been-alone-for-more-than-one-hour-yesterday-in-three-weeks tantrum. Bethany left this morning, flying back to Boston to meet up with Tach, and I think that might explain a portion of my grumpiness. Miss her.

Don’t mind me. (grumping off to play, stomp, thump, stomp…..)

I’ll just answer some comments today, since I’m still feeling lazy….

Cat teeth: If I tried to clean Digit’s teeth myself, I’d never knit again. Take it from me. It would be an amusing thing to watch, however, if one could get past the blood. Who was it, though…. Oh, yes, Rock Chick gave me the kick in the ass I needed when she said her cat had come home with fewer teeth but feeling happier. Cats hide pain well, and I can’t bear the thought that Digit might be hiding any pain from me whatsoever. So it’s off to make the dreaded appointment. Funny, I hate dealing with my teeth so much that I think I’ve carried that over to my companions.

Yarn choice: All that yarn I brought home with me? (please, Mom? Can we keep it? It’s so cute and I’ll take care of it all by myself….) I loved the questions about how I came to buy it. I think what it all came down to was I had to buy the yarn I couldn’t leave there. Much like an abandoned kitten on the street, I got Very Concerned that particular skeins wouldn’t go to a good home. What if, say, that Harrisville Highland Style went to a house where the yarn was going to be used for making crocheted trellises for supporting geraniums that were destined to be used in a Pro-W float in the hometown parade? See? Could I really let that happen? When I picked up fiber and it whispered to me its fears of becoming dog drool toys or macrame fruit baskets, I couldn’t just turn my back. I am a rescuer, people. I care.

What to make next: Whoops. I’m actually working on what to make next next. I’m just finishing up a lacy tank (on a blog-cruise this morning I saw at least six others in the works or done) made out of soy silk. I started it on the trip, and worked on it a lot in Nantucket, so it has really really good vibes. Pics tomorrow, I hope. I’m going camping this weekend, so I’ll probably just take some more cotton and start another tank of some sort. ‘Tis the season. Yep.

Bethany just said, “Periodontal disease is one of the biggest killers of domestic animals.” Oh, yipes. I was just telling her that Digit’s breath smells like sheep. It’s been stinky for a long time, but it wasn’t until we were lying in bed this morning that I realized he was reminding me of a sheep farm, dirty mud and all. I gotta tell you, it smells better on the sheep.

Ew. Bethany says if the teeth get infected, the infection can travel through the body, causing all sorts of other horrible things to happen to the cat. I was hoping for a spinning wheel soon. Now I’ll need to buy a kitty teeth cleaning instead…. Ah, well. The things we do for love. And hygiene.

The little mama watched the kitties for the last three weeks while I was gone, and Dad had business up here this week, so he brought them to me yesterday. It was awful – I had to say hello to my babies and then go to work (oooooh, I was grumpy). But I was sure cat-full during my sleep today. Bethany said they tripped back and forth between me. When Digit would move from my head, Adah would move in.

They were the mighty hunters at Mom’s house – pulling in a lizard or bird a day apiece. I still have no idea why they don’t seem to need to go outside when they’re here in Oakland, but they seem fine again as indoor cats. Thank god. They’re safe at Mom’s house. Here, even with my fabulous backyard and neighboring yards, there’s still traffic and mean dogs and mean people and I want them inside with me, if at all possible.

I think you need a couple of pictures, don’t you?

Such a mug on this one.

Look at all these toes! Keeps him busy.

Oh, he’s curled up next to me right now, on the little computer table, next to my coffee cup. For a grumpy little man, he’s sure smiling right now.

Excuse my excessive cat sentimentality. Mwah.