It’s Furious Balancing

I have far too many things I want to knit.

I’ll say right upfront that it has nothing to do with knitting 23 holiday gifts for my family, friends, co-workers, UPS delivery person, Xerox repair guy, or mailman.  I hear about a lot of knitters freaking out when the colder weather hits and the Christmas tree displays and muzak appear in the stores on the day after Halloween. 

I also hear about a lot of knitters who are stunned when their knitted gifts aren’t received with enthusiasm — or even politeness.  I read some time ago that the only people you should give knitted gifts to are other knitters (because they know how much time and energy you’ve put into a scarf or a pair of socks).

I knit for myself, for the most part.  The current exceptions to this rule are:

• A pair of socks for The Husband, which will take forever and a day since he has humungous Man Feet.  Really now, who has an 11 1/2 inch foot?  I knit for him because, well, because he’s my husband and I love him (humungous Man Feet and all).
• A Baby Surprise Jacket for a service knitting project.
• A pair of Eden fingerless gloves for HunterXan.  They’ve been hibernating a long time. I put them on the list, though, because they’ve been haunting me.  I do have the leaf edging parts done, so they count as a WIP for another person.

Only a highly select and vetted group of people receive  handknits from me, so this overwhelming urge to cast on half a dozen new projects has nothing to do with a pre-holiday knitted-gift anxiety attack.  It has more to do with my idée fixe that I need enough winter accessories to outfit the Scott expedition.

Here’s what I’m working on for myself at the moment:

• The fuchsia Catriona cabled vest.  I’m about 8 rows before the point where I divide for the V-neck, but it’s slow going.
• A cabled beret that’s absolutely perfect for the mink/cashmere yarn I bought not too long ago.  Yes, mink.  And before anyone pulls a PETA blood-throwing stunt, the minks aren’t killed for their fur.  They’re shaved, or shorn rather, like sheep.  There’s a whole ‘nuther blog post in here so I will just leave it at that for now.

And here’s the list of what I want to cast on RIGHT NOW DAMMIT:

• Ysolda’s Snapdragon Tam.  I love just about everything Ysolda designs, and when I discovered a new hat, it went to the top of my To Knit list immediately.
• The Hanami Stole.  It’s been on my Ravelry queue for almost two years, and I think I finally have the skill — or the chutzpah — to try it.  I even have the yarn at the ready:

• Thrummed Mittens.  I live in Michigan.  These will be unquestionable necessities in about 3 months.
• A pair of fingerless gloves in a fine enough gauge to wear at the office.  I need to start wearing something to keep my fingernails from turning purple.  The pattern is not yet determined, but the need and motivation is there.
• Elizabeth Zimmerman’s mitered mittens, maybe done in this shade of Noro Kureyon:

I think if I give up sleeping, I can get all of these projects — and some more service knitting — done before the end of the year.

That’s a joke, by the way.

Oh my name it is nothin’
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I was taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.

I am distressed that this day has been designated “Patriot’s Day.”  I feel that today has very little to do with patriots.  Today is the anniversary of when the definition of patriotism changed.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalry charged
The Indians fell
The cavalry charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

To be a patriot in the early years after 9-11 meant that you didn’t ask questions.  It meant that you didn’t search for the facts — let alone the truth — of what happened.  It meant that you never thought about why it happened.  It was far too complicated to look at the history of U.S. interference in the Middle East when you could be satisfied with  “They did it because they hate freedom.”

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don’t count the dead
When God’s on your side.

To be a New Patriot meant you thought the Geneva Conventions were optional.  To be a New Patriot meant you condoned the use of torture.

But now we got weapons
Of  chemical dust
If fire them we’re forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God’s on your side.

To be a New Patriot meant you believed that the erosion of civil liberties was acceptable.  To be a New Patriot meant you felt the slaughter of persons who had absolutely nothing to do with 9-11 was a point of pride.

In a many dark hour
I’ve been thinkin’ about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can’t think for you
You’ll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

It disgusts me beyond measure that the 2,974 people who died on this day are “honored” with such an empty, hollow word.  We need to call today by a different name.

September 1st.

Even though the kids aren’t officially Back to School and Labor Day is still ahead of us, this is the first indication that summer is over.  I made it through another one. Thank you and Hallelujah.

This particular summer was not too intolerable.  The Powers That Be decided it was time for a cycle of cooler temperatures and more rain.  Even though I feel a (little) bad for the gardeners whose tomatoes never turned red, I enjoyed the respite this year.  Michigan summers can be a particularly awful mix of heat and humidity.  Thank you, Powers That Be.  I owe you one.

I can feel parts of my brain coming back online.  I tend to shut down during June-July-August; sometimes getting through a work week all boiled down to my putting one foot in front of the other and my self talk.  My mantra became Sufficient unto each day is the evil thereof.  If I’m breathing, I’m winning.  One day follows another, and eventually it’s September.  In a week or two, I’ll be able to go outside without cringing.