Two weeks ago, I left work with my drab growing out hair, and I returned the following day with a shorter, sassier cut. Since the cut, I have been toying with a color change.

The history of my hair is a rather long and complex one. But I will present the abridged version for the sake of everyone involved. I wore long, "ballerina" hair until my early teens, when a desire to be trendy and sassy (as well as a run-in with an angry mother and a brush) I sported a Dorothy Hamil wedge. After that cut, it was seven years before anyone but my mother touched my hair.

In preparation for graduation and college, I cut my hip-length hair into a shaggy, shoulder-length style. Looking back, I now know that it was one of the best cuts I have ever received. I was too young to appreciate it. It was sexy and gorgeous. But I was not content to leave matters be. Two weeks before my senior prom, I decided to join the fashion of big 80s hair. I got a perm. Disaster! I looked like a cross between a poodle and a teenaged prostitue. My hair was too big and wild for my personality.

Five days later, my best friend, Dean, was unwillingly straightening my hair with a product we had found on the lowest, dustiest shelf in the store. My once glorious hair (I did win the "honor" of Best Hair, Class of 1984) was like a limp pile of wet straw. I was grief-stricken, but I felt an odd sense of freedom. After weeks of reflecting on my days as a poodlesque teen harlot and receiving subliminal devil commands from the then-commercial-free MTV, I discovered that I actually did have a bigger and wilder personality than I cared to admit.

A chance viewing of a re-run of the Sex Pistols appearance on Tomorrow with Tom Snyder cinched it. On my eighteenth birthday, I began what was to be a four-year battle with my mother. I took a pair of scissors to my hair, and I emerged resembling Cyndi Lauper. Over the years, I have dyed my hair everything from ink black to fucshia. My locks have been cropped into a 1920s bob and shaved by ROTC guys.

But nothing propels me into change faster than a wall of hair dye on sale and the announcement that I have a mere quarter of an hour left for mulling and debating.

At 11:44pm, I started the process of becoming Apricot 94.

If I hate it, at least I have the three-day weekend to sort it out.

Let me warn you that it is a bit early, that I have not yet had a cup of coffee or tea, and that I have to work the closing shift today. This combination does not make for a very explosive or dynamic blog.

I have signed on for the Secret Pal Soiree at Knitty's Coffeeshop. It should be very interesting, as a few of the participants are international chicks with sticks. An anonymous box from Norway would definately be a bit of a "reveal". However, an anonymous box from Norway would also be more readily opened -- without the audience of the ATF -- than an anonymous box from, say, Michigan.

Two more days at the store, and then I am a free bird for three consecutive days. This weekend is my Long Weekend in the schedule rotation, and I am anticipating a visit from one of my New York City pals.

Our plans include sheep.

I have been absent from the computer world for several days. I departed the country for the city (New York, that is) early Thursday morning, and there I stayed through Saturday evening. Unlike The Man Upstairs, Sunday is not my day of rest, so I dragged myself off to work.

Remember that slow cooker that I purchased at Target? Well, I have not yet put it to work, however, I did buy a cookbook during my meal break.

I could not resist the size and packaging of this little tome, in spite of the fact that I had some vauge memory of purchasing a Betty Crocker Slow Cooker book some years ago. Sure enough... What is most amazing is that it made it through the pre-move purge. I threw out a garbage bag (white, drawstring handles) filled with recipe cards, index cards, clippings, pages, magazines, website downloads, etc. I should cover my tracks and say that I bound the cooking and recipe magazines with twine and recycled them, but I...I was bad.

Since there's not much in the house that can be cooked -- much less slow-cooked -- tomrrow might require me to put in an early trip to the grocery store. I am due at work mid-day, so I will have plenty of time for shopping, errands, and starting the delicious meal -- all before I leave for work.

And what of my "yarn crawl" in NYC? Sadly, I stink when it comes to stash accumulation. 4 balls of GGH Goa are all I have to show for two days of traipsing around NYC. I am still stumped over the possibilities for (a mere) two skeins of Noro Lily #119 that I purchased a month ago in NYC. I love those sales!

Should I think it is an indication of some sad slip in my life to admit that my trip to the newly-opened Target was the highlight of my day? But how could I not rejoice at the $56 purchase that included a 5-quart slow cooker, a two-drawer metal file cabinet, and a Pur water filter for the kitchen faucet? That is a good buy by New York standards.

I also bought a sewing machine, but it is hiding in my trunk like a teenager dodging the per head charge at the Drive-In. Frankly, I have always rolled my eyes when women talked of hiding purchases from their husbands, but suddenly, I -- even without the financial joining of marriage -- have seen the need for this sort of stealthiness. I feel like a Stepford wife. I am shopping at Target, wearing cute prints for the Summer season, and hiding purchases. Mind you, these purchases are made with the money I have earned, minus the bills that I pay. I think the psychology behind this is threefold: we lack space in the apartment, I dominate the little space that we do have, and I have a crappy job that pays 1/3 the rate of Joe's. Shame and guilt! I was raised a Cathoic, afterall.

Speaking of shame and guilt, the Morehouse Merino camisole swatch has not been touched since I first spoke of it. More pressing matters, such as the Secret Pre-Grand Opening of Target, needed my attention. I did touch yarn today, and it was to exchange it for beading tools. A sale purchase of Caron's Simply Soft for an unspecified project, it was destined to find its way back to A.C. Moore. I am on a tear of organization, which requires me to tear apart the house. All hell breaks loose before order is found. Presently, I am ignoring the bags, patterns, pens, matchbooks, etc. strewn about the floor and focusing lovingly upon the neat and orderly corner that contains the Target filing cabinet. It is contained. Still. Beautiful. A moment of Zen in the D-Day Destruction my madness has wrought.

As in Europe, the retail industry counts Sunday as the first day of the week; and yesterday was quite a start to my week! I have been training a new hire, and as such, she has been "shadowing" me for the past two weeks. Yesterday, after the store rally (I know...), the store manager approached me in a furious huff because two of us were working. Perhaps he needs to review the customer service training video about customer service, and how it is a domino effect... Treat the sales associates poorly, and that bad mood is passed on to the customer.

I was so furious after his outburst, I left half-way through my shift. I spent my working hours squelching my desire to sound off a two-minute warning. A two-minute warning is the abbreviated version of a two-week notice that includes ripping of uniform, throwing of nametag, and screaming in front of --if not directly at -- customers. I guess that every employee has entertained this fantasy once or twice in their miserable career. Some people find pornography stimulating, but I nearly had a multiple orgasm during the "quitting scene" in American Beauty. If you are in the least bit unhappy with your job, rent that movie, and fast forward to that scene. Watch. Sigh. Repeat.

To compound the situation, I arrived at 9:45am today. Oops! Two of us on again! What the...? I check the schedule, and I am ready to throw myself into oncoming traffic when I realize that I was scheduled for 12:45pm. I had read Tuesday's schedule, rather than Monday's.

And what of my knitting or other crafts? I am currently swatching for the Morehouse Merino camisole, and I have a NYC yarn crawl on the horizon. These are certain to get me through the rest of the week. I am plotting a thorough pludndering of the beading and millinary section of Manhattan, and Habu Textiles is on my list for the yarn crawl. Additionally, and I am toying with the idea of hitting Purl Soho and Seaport Yarn. I suppose I need to hit more than one yarn shop, else it is not a proper yarn crawl. How many shops does a crawl make?

I am the only one awake in the house, and I am enjoying the view of and the sound of the birds from the window by my computer.

Thanks to a swap, I am now the proud owner of a Bodum Brazil French press coffee maker. You may recall that neglect resulted in the demise of my previous Bodum. I should clarify that the demise was entirely in it's use as a coffee maker; it sprang to life in other ways. The lack of proper cream makes the coffee experience a bit less than perfect. I prefer Half & Half, however, this house offers only milk, but today there is no milk at all. My first cup of home-brewed coffee in months is sadly disappointing.

To be honest, my love for and ritualistic approach to morning coffee has died over the years. I think I still hold fast to the sweet memories that that morning cup stirs: My early days in NYC; five of us crammed into a narrow one-bedroom apartment on First Avenue -- just off of 8th Street/St. Mark's Place. Years later, sharing the New York Times and a pot of coffee with one of the five roommates in a larger apartment at the edge of Chelsea/Clinton, before it was "Chelsea". Meeting friends at the Olde City Coffeeshop, blocks from my hip, converted loft apartment in Philadelphia's Olde City; and how that shop opened it's doors to the neighborhood after a 35-inch snow fall in 1995, allowing neighbors to meet and to enjoy a state of emergency with a cup of coffee and classics movies all day.

My memories of the lives I have lived in Manhattan, New Orleans, Manhattan, Philadelphia, Seattle, Long Island, Brooklyn, Queens, and once more in Manhattan are bittersweet. I left Manhattan for the man I love, and because I wanted to get back to a more simple life. I am not sure that I have achieved that in any way, and as I look around at the growing disorganziation that is mostly mine, I question how I managed to move to so many cities with the burden of so many possessions.

Over the years, I have shared many cups of coffee with people who are no longer a part of my life. Some have just fallen away through lack of effort on both ends, whilst others are absent because to have them present would be too painful.

In a matter of minutes, I must leave to arrive on time to work. I am not dressed, nor have a sipped a single drop of coffee. Just smelling it has been the jolt I needed. Indeed, I have awakened, and I have smelled the coffee.

Between a long weekend from work and spending two days in meetings in Eastern Connecticut, I lost track of day and date. I was slightly alarmed to learn that it is the end of the week and the middle of the month. I feel as if that happened whilst I was sleeping. Rip Van Lumay.

Other than my inability to follow the calendar, there is little report. Thankfully, I am finished with the baby sweater. I sewed on functional snaps and a decorative button. I feel like I should do something with the neckline, given that it is a touch wonky. One sleeve looks a bit longer, so note to self: when two sides are to be worked even -- follow the pattern instructions! In the card, I apologized for the wonkiness, and stated that it was my first attempt at baby clothing...made with love...blah, blah, blah.

This week was my first foray into the world of books on tape. It is widely known that I am a lover of the spoken word, and as such, I have dabbled in dramatic reading, radio drama, other radio work, and voice-overs. My love of words extends to the page as well. It is a fine artist who is engaging in both the written and the spoken word. Spaulding Gray and Kurt Vonnegut come to mind immedately.

Lately, the trend is the author reading his/her book, rather than an actor or a professional voice person. It seems like such a dandy idea! After all, who would have more passion for the work than the person who wrote it -- right? Wrong. Horribly wrong.

For instance, I read with great pleasure the books of Frances Mayes. I think she has done a wonderful job of capturing and recreating her life in Tuscany with her lush words, and as such, I was nearly purring with anticipation at listening to those wonderful words -- spoken aloud. I popped the tape in and began my commute to work. *BAM* It hit. Hard. Frances Mayes is Southern. I am not one of those Northerners with a distaste for Southern accents, but I am one of those people who greatly believes that the voice and the text must match. As if that accent weren't jarring enough...Mayes lacks emotion, passion -- just plain dramatic interpretation -- when reading her own rich prose. It is like fingernails down the chalkboard as I listen to her broad slaughter of the melodic Italian language. It makes the tape a nearly painful experience for me.

I own beautiful pens and stationary. It does not make me a writer. Just because you have a voice and the gift of literacy does not mean that you really can read. For the love of wool, hire an actor to read the blessed book.

Now that is quite the statement! I lifted it from this site.
First off, I cannot vouch for the veracity of this site, but I think it is as funny as...uhm...hell.

The combination of knitting the baby sweater and discovering this site started me thinking about the religion-izing of the having (or not having) of children. I am all for freedom of religion and differing opinions, however, I have ask a few questions here. Assuming that this site is bogus, and assuming that it could resonate with someone such as Senator Rick Santorum, I submit to you:

#1 If the science of Darwin (evolution) is against Creation, why is it that use of science in this regard is supporting God?

#2 If we are to believe that children are born with birth defects (and should not abort as a result of discovering this) because it is God's will, then should not the logical argument follow that it infertility is also God's will?

TOPIC CHANGE
Speaking of children, look at this!


You would think that being so close to the finished product would spur me on to bring it there. Alas, this is not the case. Instead of sewing up the sweater and bringing it to the post office tomorrow, I have decided to add another piece to the package -- an appeasement for the sweater arriving so late -- a hat.

The hat is about an inch into the works, but I have a more pressing project at hand: the re-working of my cute Spring Fling Tank. The consensus on the Knitty Board is that ribbing will make the bottom sit better for me. I have a mere 2" to go to prove or disprove the theories set forth by my trusty Knitty chicks.

I know that the amendment alteration banning gay marriage was nixed today, but for those of you who are completely pissed off with Santorum and his ilk, enjoy this.
Happy Bastille Day!

Today was a big driving day. We started out at 8:00am, and we covered roughly 80 miles of road (one way) for a training session on new products.


The session was very interesting, and I am excited about the expansions and re-formulations of various products in our line. In addition to the insight and knowledge gained, we get goodies!

Goodies included: an aromatherapy mix that we made ourselves, our #2 icon item, and a full-sized jar of a new night cream that does not launch until October. As an added bonus, each of received a necklace that we had all admired on the trainer (the beader in me admired and then set to mentally re-working the piece). Now I will be able to work a bit of magic on this.

It is Unikite, which accoring to The Llewellyn Encyclopedia of Health and Healing, is basically for love, healing, and balance. And who amongst us could not use a bit more of that?

Motivated by a blog posting (one that I cannot seem to find now *grrrrrrr*), I decided that I had to register to vote. I was registered in NYC, but after the move in September, I forgot to re-register. Anyway, I registered at the Rock the Vote website. Just as I was marvelling at the wonders of the internet, *PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT* MS Explorer freaked out and closed. Thus, the crucial part, opening the PDF application to dowload and print, was lost. I tried a second time, and the same bloody thing happened. I will blame this on a vast right-wing conspiracy to strangle the potential non-Bush vote.

What did I accomplish today, my last day off for eight consecutive days? Nothing. I managed to knit a row or two of the baby sweater, I pondered how to de-spare tire the Spring Fling tank, and I gave some serious consideration to food shopping. Final result? I managed to give myself a home peel, so my skin will look great tomorrow.

What a wasted day.

We are back from RI, and I am pleased to report that I did wear the Spring FLing Tank on the beach whilst knitting the baby sweater. This tank is the quickest and cutest project to date, and I am swearing off another project until the baby gift is mailed out. I have Monday off, so I aim to finish the bugger before the post office closes.

As if to punish me for using a mere two (versus three) skeins of yarn, the tank is not quite as becoming on me as it is on the designer. Look at this!

Granted, I am a 38-year old woman with a big butt, however, my waist is rather small and enviable -- not that you would guess that from the picture. What on earth is going on with the bottom of the tank?

At least I know what to wear if there is a casting call for a replacement for the Michelin Tire mascot. Thanks to the tank, I would definately have it in the bag. Actually, I am shamed to admit that his middle looks more trim than mine does. I can only guess that it's somehow a result of my cast on method.

Tomorrow is another day, and I did say that the goal was to finish the baby sweater prior to the close of the post office...But, but, how can I go out in public with this poofy middle? I think the early hours must be devoted to the bottom-up frogging of the tank and reworking with some short row shaping. Besides, what is another day in the life of a baby? Mine is far shorter. Carpe Diem and re-work the tank!

I am back at work today, and then I am off for a long weekend (Sat, Sun, Mon). This three-day weekend rotation is quite possibly the highlight of my retail career. Today will be devoted to training the new hire, which is something I enjoy. I like our products, and she comes with a thorough skincare background, which is quite a score for us.

The bulk of Day Off #2 (yesterday) was devoted to a bit of purging junk, a bit of running errands, a bit of chatting on the telephone, and a bit of movie watching. No bit was devoted to the baby sweater, but a good bit was devoted to working the cute Spring Fling.

Yarn Central (my LYS) had only one skein of GGH Esprit in a suitable color (for me), so I opted for Berrocco's Plush in #1930.

Berrocco calls it Sweet Pea, but I call in Mint. It is the perfect substitute yarn. My guess is that I will be wearing this as I finish the baby sweater on the beach in Rhode Island.

Buon weekend!

It is official, the family is heading to RI for the weekend. I booked two nights at a motel in Charlestown, and we'll depart after work tomorrow night. I doubt if I will get any yarn shopping in, so I will have to do that today in the comfort of my LYS.

The baby sweater is coming along, although I neglected it completely yesterday to attend a beading workshop. Today, I have managed to avoid nearly everything. I had plans for further de-cluttering (it seems an on-going, never-ending process), but that has fallen by the wayside. Hotel/motel reservations were more important.

Although I have the pattern and yarn ready for a Morehouse Merino project, I am tempted to work this Spring Fling number. It looks easy enough to work while, say, driving to or from Rhode Island. Of course, Joe will be doing the actual driving, so do not fear that I will be multi-tasking behind the wheel.

What a kind act of the universe! It is my day off, after six consecutive days of retail hell, and I awoke suffering from allergies. I suppose I should see this -- through my puffy, watery eyes -- as a blessing. After all, how could I have applied eye makeup? Who would have believed the national claims of our puff-reducing eye gel when the representative's eyes are this:

Allergy Eyes!

The super exciting news in Lumay land? My swift arrived yesterday. I was so focused on the baby sweater, Blow Out, and QE that I forgot about my sweet salavation. Oh, those hanks of yarn that will soon be transformed into glorious center-pull balls. You have no idea...

In spite of it all, I took Allergy Eyes and Stuffy Schnoze out for a bit of fun and creativity.

After work last night, I set aside some quality knitting time last night, and I was able to make a bit of progress on the baby sweater.


It got tricky when I had to bind off for the neck attach a second ball of yarn in order to work both sides of the sweater. Whoops! I bought enough yarn in terms of yardage, but the substitute yarn I selected had enough yardage in one large ball.

I decided to try to work the sweater from both ends of the ball. Well, that proved to be a bit trying, and I made it past a few stitches. I have since cut the yarn, and I wound the detached bit into a ball. I am still without a swift (damn federal holidays and no mail!), so guess what happened? Melon mess. Yes, it seems that I am capable of knotting up even the smallest amount of yarn. Now that it is all sorted and wound, I am too tired to knit!

I think I have a day off soon. Perhaps, I will have the energy to meet that melon yarn again.

For some reason, I decided to check my work schedule (posted on the refrigerator), as I wanted to confirm that I was due in at 9:45am. I had been scheduled as such for the past two days, but I decided to go in an hour earlier both days -- to cover a worker who flew the coop. I figured that I would do the same today, but -- HALLELUIAH! -- some other sucker has the opening shift. Since there is little point in having two of us standing around at 10:00am, I have decided to roll in a bit later. Ah, the mini luxuries of psuedo-management. While I do not know if my managers would find this approach "kosher", my response lies somewhere between a raspberry and a shoulder shrug.

What this morning is lacking is coffee. I swill coffee and tea in equal amounts, but I abuse neither. After my return east from Seattle, I had a full-blown addiction. I had worked at the Starbucks corporate headquarters, and I partook often of the generousity of the free coffe and espresso bar. Nothing like 8 double shot lattes to see you through the day!

Sadly, what this house lacks...well, one of the things that this house lacks is a coffeemaker. I had a french press, but neglect on behalf of the teenaged dishwashers turned it into a medicinal culture. Of course, I could drive down to the deli for a fresh cup, but the concept of getting dressed and DRIVING for my coffee is ridiculous. In Manhattan, I could have marched downstairs to my little deli in my pjs and a raincoat, and no one would have glanced twice. Something about the combination of driving and rural living requires me to be fully dressed for a morning coffee duck-out.

The morning is passing quickly. There are some errands I would like to accomplish, not to mention putting in a few rows of the baby sweater for my cousin's baby. With the diversion of work and the Purple Pasta, Melon Baby has been starved for attention. Let me give her some, as this could be some of the only knitting time I score this weekend.

Not So Swift

Wow! July and Summer have hit me in the face. I think it was the "arrival" of the new issue of Knitty that took me by surprise. I am still contemplating what to knit from the Spring issue, and now, I am given another set of patterns to contemplate?

Actually, a few of the patterns will solve the riddle of what to do with the two skeins of Noro Lily that I scored in a sale a few weeks ago.

I knew that I would have to be creative to make some sort of "top piece" out of these, but Knitty has been done for me!

Moving on: I spent hours (today and last Friday) unravelling a horrible mess of yarn. This is the final product:

You can see that I still have a small mound of purple pasta. I have to leave that for now, in hopes that the small pattern will not require every inch of yarn. However, it seems that all of my grappling with the yarn has somehow tainted the integrity. Next to the hank, the ball seems fine, but I believe that I see and feel a "roughness" in the ball that is not present in the hank. Perhaps all of the manhandling had some effect on the fibers. Understandable.

Understandable, but irritating. I blame the place where I bought the yarn. Now, let me state that I love Morehouse Merino, and I am happy to support a local farm/business, but for the love of all things holy...why no swift/winder? A yarn shop without the capability to turn hanks into balls is like an office supply store that cannot staple your receipt to the bag! Tools of the trade. Tools of the trade!

Granted, I was too impatient to wait for the swift, enlist some help, etc., but stand by my belief that a yarn shop should have a swift and a winder. End of story.