It’s Furious Balancing

I’ve been chewing on two ideas for blog posts.

One post would be a righteously indignant screed concerning the utter stupidity of the public and the media in their interpretations of the latest recommendations on mammograms for women between the ages of 40 and 49.  Honestly, people; get a grip.

I threw that idea out because I really don’t have the energy for righteous indignation right now.

The other idea for a post was how I find myself thinking more and more about my own mortality.

I have to point out — here and now — that this has nothing to do with my chronic depression or chronic pain, nor is it anything suicidal.  I’m not getting all emo-gothy-weird — I don’t have the wardrobe for it.  I’ve just been thinking thinking, and I feel myself Running Out of Time.

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker

There is so much I want to see and do and experience; it’s really not so much of a memento mori thing as it is a sic transit gloria mundi thing.

In any event, that’s where my head is — for what its’ worth — and I’ve just reminded myself that I really need to get around to reading the annotated The Waste Land that’s been sitting on my to-be-read bookshelf for the past twelve months.

Damn.

I better get up on that.

I’ve decided, quite on the spur of the moment, to participate in Blogtoberfest.

Yes, it is at bad as it sounds.  A blog post every day during the month of October.  If you feel compelled to point out to me that today is October 3rd, thank you.  I already know that, and the “rules” say you can begin on any day, including October 30th.

I’ve been in this gray, inchoate place in my mind with regard to blogging.  I think of things to write about, certainly.  I  never actually work up the energy to craft a post, or it just turns into a Facebook update. I’m growing weary of this and figure I need a kick in the pants to get me up and running, or rather, blogging.

I’m hoping I will be able to write a few things this month that aren’t “what I had for lunch today” posts.

“You lack faith,” said Candide.

“It is because,” said Martin, “I have seen the world.”

– Voltaire (Candide, Chapter XXIV)

Checking in — Not necessarily because I have something to say.  I’m hoping if I start typing something, anything, I can get out of the not-blogging rut.

For the insatiably curious:  I have played 350 games of that 1-win-in-200 solitaire game without winning a single hand.

For the knitters:  I finally finished the Black Rose socks.  I have rechristened them the “Thorn in My Side” Socks.  10 weeks of knitting.  It’s not that it’s a difficult pattern or that the yarn was hard to work with.  It was all operator error.   I ripped back the second sock after I seriously goofed the heel turn and tried to fix it.  I frogged four-weeks’ of progress in a fit of pique.  I don’t have a decent picture to show you yet , though.  My photography skills, such as they are, are failing me.

For those monitoring my mental health:  Let’s just say that if I wasn’t on Wellbutrin, things would be Extremely Bad.  On the Wellbutrin, it’s Merely Bad in General.  Hate summer.  Hate light.  Hate heat.  I’ve been trying to make a list of “positive” things about summer.  Let’s see.

• Lots of time sitting in an air conditioned house working on big knitting projects. 
• Thunderstorms.
• Fresh home-grown catnip for the pusses.
• Nectarines, my favorite fruit, are in season (and sold in lovely air-conditioned produce sections at the store).

That’s it.  The rest of it is all sweat and humidity and mosquitoes and People Who Really Shouldn’t Be Wearing Anything Sleeveless.

Enjoy your weekend, cats and kittens.  I’ll be sitting on my couch, watching documentaries, and ploughing through 4 inches of 1×1 ribbing.  On 220 stitches.  Pictures may or may not be forthcoming.  I’m just happy to keep my head about water right now.

I feel like I’ve been stuck in the same loop for a while.  I’m still knitting the Same Damned Sock that I was knitting four weeks ago.   I’m still monitoring Emma’s blood glucose levels.  I’m still trying to win this really, really annoying version of solitaire that gives the odds of winning as 1 in 200 games (I’ve played 250 games so far — no dice).  I’m still feeling the rumbles and stirrings of The Black Dog — it’s twitching in its sleep, I swear — and I’m hoping that it slumbers on for a little while longer.

There’s a wonderful article on the history of the metaphor of The Black Dog here.  I wish I had the energy to absorb it all, but I may need to wait until my Black Dog Season goes away in the fall.  The incongruity there is not wasted on me.

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.

Ernest Hemingway

I’ve been juggling two alternatives in my mind this morning,  whether to (a) dive back into blogging after a long absence and a Paris vacation, or (b) vacuum the floor of my study, which, in the light of day, looks like it has been covered in enough cat hair to knit half a dozen cats.   I’m choosing the first of the two, but I need to remind myself every now and then not to turn around and look at the floor because it really, really needs some attention with The Cat Sucking-Up Monster (i.e., the Dyson vacuum cleaner).  Distracting, that.  It’s best to pretend that the cat hair just isn’t there.

There certainly isn’t anything that I can add to all the words ever used to describe the City of Lights.  I can easily romanticize the city, but my words seem meager, paltry, and few.  I’m  completely inept at photographing a cityscape, and it seems as though people are more interested in “What museums did you go to?” or “Did you see this, that, or the other thing?” than in hearing about feelings or impressions.

I joke that I need to leave the United States every few years.  The U.S.  is too loud, too brash,  and too shallow.  It’s all about SUV’s, “bling,” trashy celebrities, bad television, the Super Bowl, Wal-mart, Starbucks, and the never-ending dumbing down of the media with its non-investigative, non-challenging journalism and 10-second sound bites.  The banality of culture.  The poverty of thought and expression.   I could go on, but I’m only agitating myself.  Let’s just say that if you can’t understand my need to get away from the United States, my reasons for traveling to Paris aren’t going to make much sense.

I go to Paris for the human scale.

I go for its antiquity  — America is so very, very young.

I go for the bread, cheese, chocolate, butter, and wine (and, that in a Paris restaurant, “slow service” equals “good service”).

I go because it is a city of museums, even though I didn’t go to a single one.

I go because it reminds me that I really need to get around to reading Voltaire. 

I go because “the older woman” is still valued.

I go because it is perfectly acceptable to have a glass of champagne as an apéritif.

The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American. It is more fun for an intelligent person to live in an intelligent country. France has the only two things toward which we drift as we grow older—intelligence and good manners.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Oh, of course The Husband and I did some of the Tourist Things, and we have pictures to prove it. Well, he has pictures. All I really wanted to take pictures of was Père Lachaise and I did that. In spades.

The whole set can be found on Flickr, and I may (or may not) pretty them up some and publish them here.

My neck hurts, and my head hurts, and I’m still working on adjusting back to my usual hours — which aren’t that usual to begin with.  Later, cats and kittens.

Say fromage –

10. Pain issues.  It’s been very bad since I’ve gone off one of my medications.  I have more intense pain to deal with, but it’s only for a “few days a month.” Yes, that’s a euphemism.  Enough said.  I’m currently typing this while on too much extra-strength Vicodin and I have the attention span of a dog.

9. Depression. This goes hand in hand with #10 above.

8.  Lack of bloggable material. I’ve started a few posts in my head, but none of them have come to fruition.  I have one idea — using the Seven Deadly Sins to write about knitting and yarn addiction — but that’s inchoate at the moment.

7.  Facebook.  Yes, I finally got my sorry butt on Facebook.  I’m there as Laiane Wolfsong if you need to look me up.  

6.  Other Internet addictions.  Besides Ravelry, that is.  I’ve gotten most of my financial stuff up at Mint.com and I’ve been known to waste a lot of screen time with StumbleUpon.com.

5.  Worry.  I’m concerned that Emma, my 14-year-old tuxedo cat, is developing feline diabetes.  We’re going in to see the vet Thursday, and I’m doing a lot of reading up on caring for a diabetic cat.

4.  Morrowind.  I’ve said before that this game is the best computer game of all time, and the primary reason is its re-playability.  I’ve been a Morrowind fan for years, and I keep coming back to it.

3.  Knitting.  One thing I do not suffer from is Second Sock Syndrome, if only because after I try on the first sock off my needles I want the second sock ASAP so I can wear them both.  I’m cranking out the second of a pair done in this lovely Socks That Rock Lightweight from Blue Moon Fiber Arts.

This is the Haida colorway from the Raven Clan series, and it’s going to turn into a pair of Lenore socks.

2.  The Prisoner.  I hadn’t heard of this 1967 television series until The Husband mentioned it.  After Patrick McGoohan died earlier this year, he mentioned it again and we decided to order the series on DVD.  We’re more than halfway through, and I know I will need to watch it again to catch more of the subtlety (You know, foreshadowing, allusions, symbolism –  all that “literary” stuff that gets me excited).

1.  Too much cat help. A picture is worth a thousand words.

Gold stars and special bonus points awarded to those of you who know the literary allusion from the title of this post without Google.

But anyway.

I’ve been completely lost for blog post topics. There have been a few ideas flitting around my head, but nothing that takes on actual substance. I’m chalking it all up to my Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder. I’m looking at the months of June, July, and August as being similar to a prison sentence; there’s a part of me that wants to “x” out each day on the calendar with a black Sharpie. I’m about ready to dig out Apsley Cherry-Garrard’s The Worst Journey in the World, crank the air conditioning, and camp out on our sofa until the leaves start to turn and I feel like a normal human being. A relatively normal human being, that is.

You’re going to have to bear with me until I have the energy to think and compose coherent sentences. You may have to put up with a few memes and a LOLCat or two in the interim.

I’ll be back. Before September. I hope.

Even though I claim that this isn’t a Knitting Blog, that’s where it appears to be headed. I’ve been thinking some about the appeal of knitting. Why does this intrigue me so? Is there more to it than messing about with sticks and string? And how much yarn, really, can one stuff into a single bedroom closet?

Knitting lets me tap into a creative process that is, for the most part, foreign to me. I’m not an artist. I can’t draw, paint, or sculpt. I’m not a musician. I can’t play a musical instrument and I certainly can’t sing. I’m not a chef. Not an architect. Not a programmer. Not a poet. Not an actor. I’m not an “anything,” really, in terms of creating.

This isn’t true with the knitting. I get to play with color, texture, and shaping. I can transform one thing (yarn) into another thing (something that vaguely resembles a sweater). I’m no longer a passive entity – I get to make stuff.

[My word, Laiane, your powers of observation are amazing. You must be the envy of your peers.]

Sarcastic and self-referential commentary aside, you can see where I’m headed. This “making stuff” business is new to me, and I’m getting quite addicted to it. I’ve got enough yarn and pattern ideas to last me a year — minimum. I’m still adding projects to my queue on Ravelry. I think I’ve come down from my last yarn buying spree, but I could be easily set off by a markdown on Malabrigo.

I have no willpower when confronted with a sale on good yarn.

A yep. Uninspired with blogging and sitting in front of computers, in any event. I’ll disabuse you of the notion that I’m out frolicking in the spring sunshine. I hate intensely dislike spring. I’m allergic to everything that even vaguely resembles plant life, so spring is not a Happy Time for me, and don’t even get me started on the “Mr. Sun is Not My Friend” speech.

Cranky blogger is cranky, too, come to think of it.

So, while I’m off Not Blogging I’m spending a lot of time on the sofa watching DVD’s and knitting my little heart out. I’ve got a Baby Project on the needles at the moment that I’m feeling compelled to work on because I don’t think that my pregnant co-worker — no matter how much she likes me — is willing to put off going into labor until I’ve finished.

And then there’s the Cavern Cardigan, and Stefanie Japel’s Cable-Down Raglan Sweater, and the Ysolda Teague Matilda Jane sweater, and the Back-To-School U-Neck Vest from Fitted Knits, etc., etc.

I’ve got my Knitting Mojo on.

I’ll come back soon with pictures. Promise.

It’s Furious Balancing is well-nigh tickled to death to be participating in the Kitty Knits Blog Tour.

I heard about Kitty Knits over at Ravelry on the Cat Knits Group and ordered my copy from Donna Druchunas right away. The description certainly piqued my interest:

Kitty Knits is the first knitting book entirely devoted to the funny, furry felines in our lives. Discover creative ways to knit up practical projects for kitties to love and cat-themed designs for owners to enjoy. Just like cat batting at a ball of yarn, it’s a perfect match. Over 20 projects feature items for cats, their people, and their homes — along with adorable photos of cats with their knitted treasures. Choose from toys, beds, mats, and more for cats, plus feline-inspired sweaters, hats, pillows, and bags for cat-loving knitters. Find projects in a variety of styles and skill levels, from felted designs to Fair Isle patterns.

Considering I’d already made three felted cat beds at this point in my knitting career, I knew this book would be a big hit at Laiane’s Cat House. Knitting and cats go together like Peanut Butter and Jelly. Abbot and Costello. Gin and Tonic. Sam and Frodo.

Well, you get the picture. I think Franklin described the Knitter/Cat Connection best:

Knitters, on the whole, enjoy the company of cats, some to the point of idolatry. Perhaps it’s the common bond of Yarn Fascination. I like the pretty string, you like the pretty string. Let’s be friends forever.

In any event, when I got my hot little hands on the book, I found several things I “just had to make.”

The first project was super-fast and yielded immediate gratification — the Felted Catnip Mice (who made their It’s Furious Balancing appearances here and here). I liked the mice because they gave me experience in a technique I hadn’t tried before – bobbles. It took me a while to get the hang of making bobbles, but I feel they’re a most excellent choice for felted mouse ears.

My next project, however, is going to take me longer to complete and will be my largest knitted object to date.. I fell in love with “The Cat” Afghan and knew I “just had to make it” as soon as I saw it. The center of the afghan is an easy lace pattern and the words for “the cat” in several languages are duplicate stitched around the borders.

Since I’m only 4 repeats into the lace pattern, I think Donna’s photograph gives you a better idea of the finished product. My afghan is currently bunched up on my 40” inch Lantern Moon Destiny needles and resembles ramen noodles more than anything else at the moment.

The afghan will give me experience in other new-to-me knitting techiniques: lace knitting, reading a chart, and duplicate stitch embroidery. Learning new knitting techniques makes my Inner Knitter jump up and down with happiness. I remember when I had a fear of double pointed needles, but I can’t do without them now.

But I digress.

I decided on Cascade 220 Superwash for the yarn. For the curious, the colors are Aran (817) for the body of the afghan and Gray (816) and Mocha (818) for the duplicate-stitched parts. My test swatch became even softer after a Eucalan bath and didn’t stretch out as much as other superwash wool I’ve worked with in the past.

When all is said and done and knitted and stitched, this will be a wonderful, cozy addition to my Knitting and Sitting Spot on the sofa. I’m sure I will get plenty of Cat Help breaking it in.

That’s my segue into the Cat Picture portion of today’s blog post. Since I’m sure there are a few first-time visitors here, bear with me while I introduce the four feline members of my household. If you’ve made it with me this far, you’re up for a few Cat Pictures.

The Grand Old Dame and Top Cat is Emma, a twelve-year old tuxedo cat with an attitude. The Husband and I call her She Who Must Be Obeyed. Yes, she almost always looks this disgruntled. She claims we don’t feed her enough.

Thomas, our marmalade tabby, is about 8 years old, a big cuddler, and perhaps the most photogenic of the bunch

Aaron and Christopher are the Recent Additions to Laiane’s Cat House. They came to us from The Ann Arbor Cat Clinic in December 2007. It’s been a while since I’ve had a kitten in the house, let alone two kittens – kittens who like to play Mouse Hockey in the upstairs hallway at 3:00 a.m. at that.

Here’s Aaron:

And here’s Kissy-Fur, er, Christopher:

My last word on Kitty Knits: The thing that impressed me the most was that Donna pointed out the dangers of cats eating string and gave clear warnings in the projects that called for eyelash yarn. Not “tucked away in the fine print” warnings, but separate text boxes saying that kitties can be seriously injured (and even die) from eating strings. It’s not a pleasant subject to think about as a cat owner, but an important one (especially for knitters).

Thank you, Donna. Our Cat Critics give Kitty Knits a rating of Four Thumbs Paws Up!

Tomorrow, March 4th, is my day in the spotlight for the Kitty Knits Book Blog Tour. I’ve been working on a long-ish post and hope to have it up for your reading enjoyment some time in the evening. Cats! Yarn! Cats and Yarn Together! Stay tuned!

When I started this blog some 14 months ago, I didn’t imagine that it would turn into a knitting blog. Technically, it isn’t, if only because there are a few posts that don’t even address knitting at all.

There are plenty of other topics I would like to write about, but they are either (a) poorly-formed with no satisfying resolution or, (b) work-related and thus dealing with Other People and privacy issues and suchlike and so on.

Topic (a) would include the media’s utter irresponsibility in reporting the Northern Illinois University shooting from the “mentally ill gunman who stopped taking his medication” angle. That is offensive on so many levels, the primary one being that a person described as “normal,” “intelligent,” with “no red flags” is being tarred with the rather broad brush that not only stigmatizes people who take prescription psychotropic medication — such as myself — but also offers an oversimplified, pat answer that the American Public will swallow whole without stopping to think.

Surprise, surprise.

Topic (b) would include my belief that – despite all the jokes about unscrupulous lawyers — the most unethical people who walk into our office are clients, not attorneys. I work with estate planning, probate, and trust administration issues, and I often say that I’ve seen it all when it comes to the intrafamilial squabbles after a death (e.g., “Uncle Henry’s dead! Who gets his stuff?!”). The particular estate I have in mind at the moment involves outright fraud — intentionally concealing assets from other beneficiaries and intentionally misdirecting assets intended for charitable purposes into their own pockets. And people say attorneys are shysters? ‘Nuff said.

<deep breath>

So let’s talk about knitting, shall we? It’s a lot less complicated than Real Life. Most of the time, anyway.

I’ve been slogging along on the Malabrigo top-down raglan sweater and have a progress picture for you:

Again, not a good picture by any set of standards, but it gives you an idea of how far I’ve come along. I’m just starting the k1p1 ribbing at the bottom, and I’ll probably give that 3 to 4 inches. The collar looks too small/too tight in this photo, but that’s more k1p1 ribbing; trust me, I can get this over my head without any problems.

Today, Groundhog’s Day, is also the Feast of St. Brigid. I conveniently forgot this little factoid until I saw other bloggers posting about the Silent Poetry Reading that has taken place for the past three years. Even though the event has caught me by surprise — yet again — I’ll contribute a poem this time around.

It’s from a book a poetry given to me by one of my favorite college professors, Conrad Hilberry. I had Dr. Hilberry for classes in 17th century literature and creative writing – poetry (I was a teaching assistant for him in the same poetry class the following year). Con was a very gentle and kind professor; I remember that he wrote his comments on our papers in pencil since red ink looked too harsh. He gave me a fine appreciation for the written word (and John Milton, especially).

The book was Louise Gluck’s The House on Marshland, and I’ve loved the following poem ever since Con gave me the slim volume back in 1985.

——————————————

Gretel in Darkness

This is the world we wanted.
All who would have seen us dead
are dead. I hear the witch’s cry
break in the moonlight through a sheet
of sugar: God rewards.
Her tongue shrivels into gas . . .

Now, far from women’s arms
and memory of women, in our father’s hut
we sleep, are never hungry.
Why do I not forget?
My father bars the door, bars harm
from this house, and it is years.

No one remembers. Even you, my brother,
summer afternoons you look at me as though
you meant to leave,
as though it never happened.
But I killed for you. I see armed firs,
the spires of that gleaming kiln–

Nights I turn to you to hold me
but you are not there.
Am I alone? Spies
hiss in the stillness, Hansel,
we are there still and it is real, real,
that black forest and the fire in earnest.

I was just thinking this morning that I am in Danger of Perpetuating Stereotypes. Not only am I tottering right on the edge of Crazy Cat Lady — what with four cats now and getting a repetitive stress injury in my hands from working on the fourth, yes, fourth, Kitty Pi, not to mention a Kitty Pi made out of Malabrigo, for all love — I’m also well on my way to being a full-fledged, dyed-in-the-wool Knitting Nerd.

Ok, ok. I was a nerd to begin with; I won’t argue with you. It’s just that I have recently realized the depth of my Knitting Lunacy Fixation, and it wasn’t with my blithe and casual use of Malabrigo in the making of a Kitty Pi.

No, the realization dawned when I thought about my reaction to Franklin coming to ThreadBear for his 1,000 Knitters Project.

I think I stopped breathing for a moment.

I’ve been wanting to go visit ThreadBear for a while, and the idea of finally being able to meet one of my favorite bloggers and actually participate in 1,000 Knitters just had me bouncing up and down in my chair with glee — once I started breathing again, that is.

I just hope I don’t go all Fan Grrrrl/Blogstalker on the man.