I had quite a weekend! I was up until 3:00am Friday-cum-Saturday. Saturday around 9:45a.m., Joe, the kids, and I departed for a long weekend in Rhode Island. The combination of lack of sleep, heat, massive ingestion of coffee, and car motion, I was a mess for the bulk of the drive. I have no one to blame but myself. I was up until the wee hours due to my own stubborn desire to start my Morehouse Merino Tank before the trip.

This:

is the result of attempting to wind yarn without a swift, without assistance, and without a calming glass of wine. Actually, this is the product of laboring for 4 hours over a tangled mess of what looked like purple pasta. I do not have the stomach for capellini since this experience.

Around 1:30am, I had flashbacks to a speedy, helmetless motorcycle ride with my Uncle Nick. I returned home with my hip-length hair so matted and knotted that I swear I was the inspiration for Marge Simpson's hair. At the very least, I gave the Bride of Frankenstein a run for her follicular money (My mother nearly melted from the heat of her anger. Roughly one week after the painful experience of having the knots not-so-gently brushed from my hair, I was sporting the sassy Dorothy Hamill wedge).

At 3:00am, I realized that I could not win this war and survive the drive to RI, so I crept into bed shortly after, careful not to disturb Joe. He would never understand my hours self-torture. It would probably make him second-guess his love for me.

That hanknot has sat in the same position since 3:00am Saturday, 26 June. Hopefully, the punishment of being left alone for a long weekend with the cat has had a loosen effect on the frisky fibers...

I couldn't be happier!

That is Snickers sleeping in her catbed! I will confess to you that it is not entirely complete. There is still some sewing to be done, but I wanted to see if she would comply with using the bed before I put the effort in -- even though I had already put in the effort to knit it.

Today, coffee will be my best friend. Up at 4:50am yesterday for 6:00am inventory, and today I am scheduled for 7:45am. It is the Preview Day to the One Day Sale. However, if you missed the Preview or the Sale, you can still use the Super Sunday coupons. If there are three days of sale prices and coupons, how is this a One Day Sale? I am just asking...

As an aside: Joe is wonderful. He was crying/laughing when he saw the box and packing popcorn. With a big smile and wide eyes, he mimicked (in a much higher-pitched voice than I actually have), "Look honey, I threw out 8lbs of stuff on Monday to make room for the 17lbs of stuff on Thursday!".

We leave for a three-day weekend in Newport, Rhode Island very early Saturday morning. At this point, I just want to sleep until the sun actually rises -- that would be a vacation. The kids will be skateboarding, Joe will be resisting a time-share sales pitch, and I will be in search of the LYS. I realize that my internet connection and proximity to NYC affords me the luxury of attaining nearly any yarn I wish. However, there is no denying the sensory experience of discovering a new yarn shop -- in a new place. It cannot be duplicated.

Yesterday was my birthday, and I celebrated by cleaning and organizing my "stuff". For nearly one year, I have devoted far too much time to the reduction of what I own. Clearly I am either not as committed to the task as I think, or I am not merciless enough, as I am still drowning in possessions.

To my credit, I reduced my vintage hat collection without pain. I simply came to the decision that with only one head, I could wear only so many hats in a year's time. Other factors (weather, location, etc.) signicantly reduce the number of plausible days, and therefore wearable hats, further. Okay, it was not so simple. I was on the verge of merging households with a man and his two children, so my hand was forced. At the same time, my then-roommate was celebrating her new job and weight loss with a closet/wardrobe update, so I was further inspired.

It is ten months later, and I am still finding more stuff to purge. Now, this is where it gets interesting -- at least to me. One can appreciate a collection of books, vintage hats, and non-working vintage fountain pens... But what on earth is the root of my fascination with shopping bags? Not just those pretty gift bags, but store bags. And it is not limited to lovely bags from shops such as Coach or Tiffany...I hoard bags from Shop Rite!

Apparently, Cancers are notorious for collecting boxes, but, it appears that this Cancer trait is corrupted by my cusp birth. Thus, have I compromised to please both of my signs? The Cancer wants a container, but the Gemini demands that it be portable?

What does what we collect say about us? Is there exciting literature -- either sociological or psychological -- that deciphers this? Maybe it's out there, but I did not find it. My seach was aborted when I found this gem .

Three wonderful things mark this day: the Summer Solstice, the first day of Summer, and my birthday. Yes, it is immodest to say that one's very birth makes a day wonderful and special, but I believe that everyone should mark their birth as a special day.

To mark my day, I freed myself from the torture of retail hell. Given my propensity to procrastination, I did not bother to book a facial or massage in advance. Sadly, the only spa open for business today (that closed on Monday thing is still new to me from my years in NYC) is without a facialist, and the massage therapist was booked. Alas, I decided that I would spend my day purging toxins in some manner.

In spite of fairly regular rounds of purging, I manage to occupy the most space (out of three other inhabitants) in the apartment. My 38 years of life have more to show than the combined lives of the 40 year old, 16 year old, and 14 year old with whom I share my life and living quarters. Sheepishly, I admit that my possessions extend beyond the borders of New York State. My parents have a complete quadrant of the attic (and a bedroom that still awaits my return to the womb) devoted to housing my junk. I will also confess here that a friend has been storing my books for me since I moved from Philadelphia to Seattle -- in 1996. This is a true friend. He has guarded my books through a bout with Hodgkin's Lymphoma and two house moves. The fact that he has not burned or sold these books astounds me. It speaks volumes about him as a person -- he continues to hold my prized possessions in spite of my blatant disregard for them. However, the time has come for me to make right with the universe and free this man from his burden. Before the Summer is out, I will get myself to Philadelphia for a full weekend of sorting, selling, trashing, and mailing home books.

In spite of the additional hours of sunlight the solstice grants, it is time for me to return to the work of the purge.

I am stuck in the middle of three projects. The catbed, a dishcloth, and a pair of socks.

The catbed is boring. I finished the base, and I finally saw some acceptance from Snickers when I caught her napping on it in one of her favorite spots. I have to complete the edge, and it is a mind-numbingly boring part -- 47.5" of garter. Ugh!

I cast on for the dishcloth because I was bored with the catbed, and I assumed that it would be quick going. I forgot how annoying the Sugar 'n' Cream cotton can be. Basically, I was looking for a quick project to use up the remainder of the SnC from the first baby blanket, and I have grossly underestimated the size of the skein. Half a dishcloth is better than nothing, no?

Socks...It was a knitting challenge that I believed myself ready to tackle. I cast on (after a day of wrangling with a Figure 8 cast on for toe-up socks) for easy cuff-down socks. After 2 rounds of 2x2 ribbing on #2 needles, I thought I was hearing voices. The form of the socks has been occupying a small spot on the kitchen table for two weeks. Sadly, this will tell you a bit about how often we eat as a family.

Tonight, I decided that the socks deserved some attention. I am bored. I am not for knitting socks. The needles, the yarn -- it is all too small. I like a challenge, but this is beyond the scoop of my definition of challenging, landing squarely in the maddening box.

I wanted to start the camisole that I picked up at Sheep's Clothing, but I now realize that I must first wind at least one hank into a proper ball. Never mind that I already lost precious time dashing over to the yarn store (in my work uniform, no less) for the mandatory #3-24" circular needles for the project.

My salvation is BBC America's broadcast of an hour of What Not to Wear. I am completely, and unapologetically, addicted. I dream of a new wardrobe -- sleek, refined, and each piece working with the next. I also dream about the teams from Life Laundry and House Doctor turning my apartment into a clutterless, colorful dream space. As Joe likes to point out, I should devote the time spent watching these shows to actually de-cluttering, painting, etc. Hrumpf! A gal needs inspiration, no?

My city friend, Alyssa, decided to join me for a day of fun in rural New York State. Having relocated 70 minutes north of NYC, it is far more common for me to see my friends on the city turf. I still think of it as a middle ground, in spite of being a long train ride.

Before Alyssa's arrival, I attended a three-hour felted/beaded lariart workshop with the delightful Carol Cypher makes every class a joy.

Our day together started with a lunch of Indian food buffet, whihc was pure gastronomic heaven. For all of her city-ness, Alyssa has a secret desire to own a sheep farm. As such, I decided that we need to take a trip to Morehouse Merino, however, the farm is only open for tours the first Sunday of every month. We consoled ourselves with a trip to the farm's store, Sheep's Clothing, which is a fiber enthusiasts dream! Yarn, patterns, needles, sheepskin, carded roving, uncarded roving, and so much more.

I managed to control myself, and I settled for the lace camisole kit in aster. I have forbidden myself to even start the project before I finish the catbed for Snickers. Easy enough, as I have neither the appropriate circs or DPNs for the project, and I do not own a swift and ball winder. I am not keen to do the winding by hand, so Joe researching the possibility of a swift and ball winder as a birthday gift. Hoohah!

Snickers is irritating me. I finished the base of the catbed Friday night,

and she's not given it a second look. She will lay near, but not on, it. I am hopeful (and even more doubtful) that she will take to it once the sides are added.

Yesterday, shortly after the beginning of my "stuff" rant, I sauntered out to the post box to find my gratis inside. Gratis is the glorious gift given to those of us who work for a cosmetics company. After untold hours of abuse at the hands of the general public, we are able to order a fair amount of product for free. I cannot tell you how much that little envelope brightened my day!

Last night, in a moment of psuedo-step-parenting, I attended Lukas' Moving Up Ceremony. Since I am not the child's mother, I found it a bit tedious. The best speaker was an 8th grader, which is not surprising given the horrendous state of teaching affairs at LaGrange Middle School.

I have been witness to teacher-parent communication forms that were riddled with errors in spelling, grammar, and basic sentence construction (which, I suppose, is grammar). I suggested that signing and returning these papers was not the right plan of action. Instead, Joe's duty as a parent was to mark the mistakes, send it back to the teacher with the markings and a grade, and then send a copy to everyone right up the chain to the New York State Board of Regents.

More alarming than the bad grammar was the clothing selections. Flip-flops have their place, but it is most definately not the stage upon which you receive a graduation certificate. Flip-flops aside, the bulk of the girls were dressed in what I would imagine a runaway, teenaged prostitute in Los Angeles might wear before she can afford to stop shopping at her hometown mall. Towhit, I wondered (in a stage whisper) if any of the parents were proud of having daughters that appeared to be dressed for the cover shoot of Hustler's Barely Legal. The obscenity of it all was further highlighted by the elegance of a young Muslim girl. I am getting old.

Enough of the cultural critique, and on to some knitting. I forgot to share the contents of the envelope that I found on the kitchen table this past Wednedsday -- yarn! Take a look at this:

*sigh of relief*
It is a day off, and I am making the most of it by doing nothing special. This morning, I ran two errands: consignment shop and post office.

The consignment shop option has been wonderful in my quest to streamline my closet. Working in retail has not been a good option in this quest. What startles me the most is the volume of clothing that I have donated, given away, consigned, or tossed in the past year. Prior to my move out of NYC, at least 15 large garbage bags were filled and carried around the corner to the local thrift shop. In the four months after the move (September), I was still collecting items to bring to Goodwill. I even spent a long weekend with my parents in Pittsburgh, where I loaded up the car with more of my belongings -- that they have stored for two decades -- for donation and/or sale.

From the amount of clothing that I have purged, you might think that I have a spartan wardrobe or that I have become a nudist. Neither could be further from the truth.

It has been noted by the other adult in the apartment that I was the last to move in; I am just one person; and I have more possessions than the three who lived here originally -- combined. Now, that is a bit of an exaggeration!

I offer these facts: I dress better than the three men who share my living space. I certainly wear more makeup than they do. Indeed, I have more hair than the three of them combined. Also, I require more luxury bath items to soothe my nerves and help calm my insomnia. Let us not forget that I have dabbled in beading. I do hand felting, and I also knit. I am a lover of books, pens, and journals. Joe has no hobbies that I can see, beyond watching The Weather Channel and tracking the atmospheric patterns on AccuWeather. The boys are focused solely on skateboarding, however the growing mound of broken skateboards is not addressed. I am told that it is a trophy of sorts -- a badge of honor. See, I lack the imagination to bestow such meaning upon a growing pile of wood -- in a home without a fireplace.

In an effort to lead by example, I have been purging my closet. Now, I have turned an eye to my small stash as well. This is not something that I can admit easily: defeat. The mohair has gotten the best of me, and you can now find it listed on eBay. However, in my world, this is not the best answer. eBay requires one to hold on to the item in question until some decides to buy it/bid on it. I like the immediacy of gathering up a bag full of "stuff" and hauling it away immediately -- even if it means that I carry it around in my trunk for a month until I can get to my favorite used bookstore in Brooklyn. I feel a George Carlin-esque tirade about stuff and American consumerism building within, so I will just stop here.

I am absolutely bored to tears with the peach mohair project. Bored so badly, in fact, I have not touched it in four days. Not only have I not touched the darned thing, I have not even bothered to carry it in my knitting bag. The combination of the mohair yarn and the knitting two squares has me thinking about the final outcome. How will that look on me? I am loathed to complete the project, finish it, and block it, only to find that it makes me look boxy.

Work has helped me deepen my hatred of the human race. Today, a woman exchanged a jar of body cream because the bottom of the jar was cracked. Mind you, this has no effect on the cream inside as there is a jar within the jar. Also, bear in mind that there was just over 50% remaining in the jar. What a complete wench. I see this all of the time -- exchanges and returns of product that have been well used. Used beyond the scope of "I tried this for a week or two, and it's not suited to my skin type".

When I lived abroad, I often cringed when I encountered others from the US. It was humiliating to be lumped in with these loud-mouthed buffoons who wore socks with sandles, Suntan pantyhose with shorts, and looked like a walking pound of fries. Similarly, retail work gives me the pleasure of loathing a swarming population of girls who are happy to reveal body fat, ass crack and pubic hair in $150 jeans; pimply white boys playing "ghetto" with their droopy jeans (which frequently reveal ass crack as well), XXXXL shirts, and mumbly-mouthed speak; sextagenarian ladies who think that a pound of spackle from their favored cosmetics counter is hiding their age; former frat boys who share the glory of digging deeply to extract something from their ass crack or "package" area. I am simply aghast. The general public is most disturbing.

In other news, the sweet Snickers seems to be suffering from a broken tail. I noticed a slight "kink" in it the other day, and there was no movement in the tail below the kink. She is scheduled for a vet appointment in the next day or so, and I am hopeful that all will be well. She is still eating well and prancing around -- both indoors and outdoors -- so there does not seem to be any damage to the nerves or to the spine.

All Tanked Up

My goal was to wear the tank today. In a small way, I achieved that goal. Neither the tank nor the weather cooperated with my wishes this morning, so I left the house in rather chilly weather, leaving the tank to dry a bit more.

In spite of the threat of terrible weather, it turned out to be a lovely day in New York City. I visited with two friends visiting the East Coast from San Francisco. However, before the fun of lunch at John's Pizza in Greenwhich Village, I swung by School Products for a store credit, and I found yarn that will be perfect for the oft-mentioned Grace pattern from Knitty's Spring Issue (Please see links below).

After lunch, we wandered around Soho, and I managed to find Purl Soho by asking a random lady on the street and a postal delivery person. What a great little treasure! I visited once before, but I was rushed and irked after a bad experience at an Uptown yarn store. This time, I was able to revel in the glorious textures, the vibrant colors, and the powerful fragrance of Mexican food for lunch. Bad idea to eat such an aromatic lunch in a small store... But it was a minor detail in the the experience.

Not so minor detail: in my search for the pearl of Purl, I twisted my ankle. I walked it off. However, after a brief pause for gelatto, I was barely able to walk. I am currently typing with ankle and foot propped up and ice packed. I see a rather painful day of retail work on the schedule tomorrow.

The pain, however, is mitigated by the sheer bliss of a 99.9% dried TANK, modeled here by me (just ignore that it does not work with my skirt or that my bra strap is showing -- and tangled! Thanks.).