Fall Colour

Remember that land emergency I had last week? This was at that office.† So

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

from me and the people at Land Panic Inc.%

Saturday, I took a class from Annie Modesitt, who is funny and supportive and charmingly neurotic. Her cabling without cable needles is worth the price of admission just for the story about the gallant but slightly perverted prince and the wallflowers.‡

And here she is with my new best friend, Cheryl Oberle, who also took the class.§




[SUMMARY: I stalk celebrities and I have the pictures to prove it.]

And I finished the Sparkle Socks! And they're very nearly the same size!

One thing I found cool was, in knitting socks on two circular needles, I can just use one of the extra pointy ends as a cable needle.¶ It makes me feel very efficient and clever.

The Lizard Ridge, strip two, three squares down and three to go:

[SUMMARY: KNIT BLOG!]

And in keeping with the title theme, here's to prove that Colorado has trees just as pretty as Rhinebeck:




And giant sunflowers you could use to slay a dragon:




And, apparently, fall colours include green and gold.

This was taken at 3:00 the afternoon of the game. What were these people doing that early? Did they think Mile High would be general admission?

And how did the Packers end up with home field advantage in Denver?

[SUMMARY: No, let's don't talk sports. Let's focus on the pretty leaves.]

Ooooh... just wait 'til tomorrow. Boy, do I have a treat for you!

For now, I have to go watch my clients do the Thriller dance on the sixth floor.#

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm sure they're wondering why they're paying someone who stands -- with reckless disregard for social normalcy -- in their lobby, taking pictures of their bird.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm dressed up today. I like to get my inspiration from my surroundings and let a costume come to me organically. I'm a dust bunny.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nope, you're going to have to take the class to get the story.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who would be *thrilled* to know I'm crowning her "new best friend," I'm sure. Cheryl teaches knitting classes at Posh (Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack) and is helping head up the new North Denver Knitting Guild (first Wednesday of every month, Tenn Street Coffee at 44th and Tennyson, starting November 7, just in case you're interested). She's my celebrity knitter brush with fame. She even knows my name. You can touch me for a dollar.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This was before I learned about the gallant but slightly perverted prince. I had to make my own cable magic.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not kidding.


ETA: I almost forgot the tiny little story I promised yesterday.

Once upon a time, I wound my yarn clockwise on my purl stitches. If you knit in the back of your knit stitches on the way back, it is stockinette stitch using the Eastern method. If you don't, you end up with what we call "twisted stitches." Frankly, it doesn't make a good goddamn's worth of difference to the aesthetic of the finished project, but you know how some people can be about some things.

I went to a knit night at an LYS (no longer with us), where a fussy and petulant little man looked over my shoulder and said, "Oh. My. God. What kind of stitch is this?"

"Stockinette...?"

"Oh, no it's not. I don't know what it is, but it isn't stockinette. Knit and let me see what you're doing."

Then he told me I was winding my purl stitches up wrong and made me knit a couple of rows the right way.

"See how much better that is?"

I was young (couldn't've been more than 35) and star-struck (he was knitting fussy little Nordic colour-work mittens on fussy little 00-sized needles that looked like fussy little fishing line) and meekly thanked him, even though I couldn't really see that much difference, only now my knitting looked kinda wonky from changing horses mid-saddle.

Annie taught me I wasn't knitting wrong, I was knitting in an exotic Eastern way the fussy little man could never dream of in all his fussy little dreams.

Can you tell I feel all vindicated and stuff?

OK, I'm really done now. Time to go trick-or-treating on the seventh floor.#

Dear Sister-in-Law,

I want to make all your wishes come true, but since I don't have Chad Pennington's phone number, you'll have to settle for this.

Fourth picture down.

XOXO
M

Photolism

I don't even know what that means, but it sounded cool. In my head, I mean.

And here's my trip to NYC.

First, I think it's important to note that Jeff and Lorree live right around the corner from what may be the only drive-thru in Manhattan.

I took this from the subway platform.

Second, I think it's important to note that I finished Yorick for Jeff as hoped. And I know how y'all like FOs.

The only thing I've done every time I go to Manhattan (other than stay with Jeff and Lorree) is visit the American Museum of Natural History.

That's the rail on the fence surrounding the Eleanor Roosevelt Garden@ on the northwest corner of the museum grounds.

The Rose Center and the Hayden Planetarium are always worth a peek, and I buy an unlimited ticket to get me into every special exhibit they have going.

This trip's special exhibits were butterflies and mythical creatures.

The former:

The latter was basically a bunch of papier-mache critters with narrative explanations on their mythology and, y'know... how manatees looked like mermaids to weary sailors. The only picture I got was of a dragon wing, which was artsy, but not illustrative.%

The biosphere on the bottom floor with all the tiny fish.

The dinosaur in the Roosevelt Rotunda you may have seen in "Night at the Museum" or the TiVi show "Mad About You."^

And "truly large mouse," just because I think it's funny.

[SUMMARY: Go, museum geek, go!]

Friday, MoMA was ridiculously crowded, and for the first time I got genuinely pissed off at the pretentiousness of a piece of "artwork."†

I don't like to guppy up to the "my four-year-old could do that" stereotype of the artistic Luddite, but I finally found the thing hanging on a wall that did it: a piece of newsprint -- not very big‡ -- folded in half, in half and in half again, then unfolded and framed.

The accompanying blather said (paraphrasing) "The artist folds the blank paper many times, transcending tradition to create a drawing without ever putting pencil to paper."

No, the fuck he doesn't.

He folded a page in eighths like they used to make us do in the second grade to create a big-pencil-friendly version of ruled paper for us to do sums on.

It's not a drawing.

It's not even art.

[SUMMARY: My four-year-old could do that.]

The art I liked was the art I always like. Every time I looked at a painting I liked, it would be Klimt or Rothko or Dali or Ernst.§

Perhaps I stagnate.

I also love the furniture section. I don't know why an Eames chair should turn me on so, but it really does.

Although I don't like alien furniture... you know, the stuff that was conceived on the artistic construct of "how would a space creature with seven legs whose spine was rigid, but whose knees bent backwards sit?"¶

[SUMMARY: I don't know art, but I know what I don't like.]

Friday also brought weather I've never experienced before: 100% humidity with reasonably comfortable temperatures. Sleeping was weird and surreal, with fever dreams and kicking the covers on and off and getting up ten or seventeen times to pee and get water. I've never felt anything like it.

[SUMMARY: Not unlike my Amber experience.]

Saturday was, of course, the trek to Rhinebeck.

There were many people.

And fairground-appropriate accoutrement.#

And pretty trees.

This being my favourite.

And a bouncy pirate ship with (wait for it...)

...a skull and crossbones or five.

Sheep.

Goats.

Bunnies.

Outdoor yarn.

Indoor yarn.

Mohair locks by the bushel.

Quiet spaces to go to escape the madding crowd, if just for a few minutes.

And this is very important. A vendor I loved, with lovely Merino and Merino/Silk and CORMO and I somehow *forgot the name of the frickin' vendor.* If anyone knows who this is (maybe from the top floor of the big white barn?), could you please drop me a comment?

I didn't dislike everything about Rhinebeck. I loved the unknown yarn vendor and Spirit Trail Fibreworks. And Green Mountain Spinnery, from whom I got 500 yards of this:

And, as always, Brooks Farm, from whom I got 500 yards of this:

And the horses. I may be the only fibre geek in North America to get this guy from the front.

[SUMMARY: Deja vu?]

These are my peeps from the delayed train adventure.

Sunday, Lorree needed some Lorree time, so I asked Jeff if we could explore Central Park, as I've seen woefully little of it and feel it is necessary to my quintessential experience of New York.

Jeff said, "You're taking a picture of a sign?"

I said, "Yes. Some people might appreciate that there are eleventy hundred baseball diamonds here in the North Meadow."




People who have only seen snippets of the park on TiVi and such may not be aware of its full impact. It's HUGE.

You can hike through a forest reminiscent of Redwood National Park, fording streams and climbing rocks and hills... then come around a corner to the Great Lawn where upwards of 3000 people and their dogs are playing Frisbee and sunbathing.

There is the Pond (smaller than Harlem Meers, but large enough to row on).

There are turtles.

There is a castle.††

Oh, look. There is Jeff 180 degrees from the last photo on the courtyard of Belvedere Castle.

There is a highly artistic shot of the shadow of Belvedere Castle looking up to the south leg of the Great Lawn.‡‡

After rambling around Belvedere Castle, we cut across the park westward§§ to catch Riverside Park home. Jeff lives right by Riverside Park, though a ways north of where we were at the castle.

A barge.¶¶

Looking up Riverside Park.

[SUMMARY: New York!]

Tomorrow: WIP, another FO and Annie Modesitt tells me I was knitting OK all along.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Maybe. I know she had a garden around here somewhere.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not that artsy isn't a fine reason all on its own to post a picture. Apparently I was the victim of a rare and impulsive moment of discretion. Enjoy it while you can.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Where young Paul and young Jamie are on class field trips to AMNH and the power goes out.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's too trite to sniff at art, but I actually had a visceral reaction to the bullshit they were dishing. Spittle. Hair on end. Ears hot.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, size doesn't count, but I don't want you to think it's maybe six stories tall and could fall into some Christo realm of scale as art.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I'm nothing if not prosaic.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): When Melissa Etheridge came out, a male friend was trying to articulate why it was so upsetting to him. In my usual succinct way (shut up), I said, "Because you want to believe she's singing the love songs to you." I want to believe the chair in the museum could possibly end up in my living room (maybe as part of the McDonald's Monopoly frenzy of prizes) and I'm not a seven-legged alien.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With a festive fall theme!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Belvedere Castle, to be specific.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I think.

§§FOOTNOTE (a snake eats its tail): Right by the Dakota, where people take pictures of the sidewalk like they might be able to catch bloodstains from nearly 30 years ago.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (I think we just ran out of paragraphs): Maybe.

For Your Amusement

Whinging Rhinebeck

"Naturally, as you will read all over, Rhinebeck was wonderful."
--Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, the Yarn Harlot


You won't read it here.

I know I'm late. I know you've read all kinds of stuff and seen a hundred pictures of David, the Cute Kilt Guy.†

There was yarn, there were sheep, the leaves were lovely. Yes, I have pictures of all of them,‡ and I will probably subject you to them tomorrow.

First, I'd like to take a little tangent to speak on being smote by the gods for running one's trap.

See, about five years ago, I said to someone, "One of the things I love about my job is that, despite the deadlines and the workload and the occasional panic or screw-up, it's really kinda low-anxiety. Nobody's going to die if the land work is a little off or a little late.§ Nobody ever calls in the middle of the night and says, 'You have to come in! It's a land emergency!'"

It took them five years, but the werk gods found a way to make me eat my words.

We can but laugh.¶

[SUMMARY: If you mutter it, they will come.]

Anyway...

Rhinebeck was like a wedding or a dinner party: it was great for couples, for people who have someone, but uncomfortable, exclusionary and lonely for those of us$ who went stag.

Cheryl at Jung at Heart (whose gentle, thoughtful writing makes me wish I was less of a spaz) said she doesn't like the post-festival glut of posts. The posts are (in my own paraphrase) primarily for people who went to see themselves on other people's blogs.

Those who didn't go feel left out... and that's part of the impetus behind going, behind blogging about it, behind posting all those pictures and anecdotes.*

But you know it's part of the reason I was so excited to go.

Don't you want to be part of the in-crowd?

Don't you want to say, "I was fondling some hand-dyed Cormo/silk and suddenly someone called my name and I was shocked to realise people read my blog and recognise me. Within moments, I was flocked by admirers. I got invited to the Interweave Knits secret hideout and was inducted into the FibreMasons (no, I won't reveal the secret handshake) and had dinner with everybody who's ever written a knitting book. It was such fun!"

Don't you want to find that exact level of nonchanlance that says, "Oh, yes, but those of us who were there know it's just part of the festival atmosphere," when you can impart the utterly squee-inducing news that Stephanie Pearl-McPhee tapped you on the shoulder and asked where you got the gorgeous yarn in your Delores-I'm-a-Square bag?%

Don't you want everybody to know that you bonded with the Harlot or Juno or Grumperina or Eunny Jang^ or Nancy Budd and have a standing invitation to come yarn crawl their hometowns and sleep on their couches?

All those tales from blogyears past were certainly an element in my desire to go. And I felt left out and on my own almost the whole day.

Part of the disappointment surely comes from missing Glinda. Glinda tangoed with a bad shrimp and couldn't go. I was very sad to miss my Glinda time, but I figured with the number of blogs I read and the Blogger Bingo thing, I'd cosy up to some imaginary friends in no time.

Within the first fifteen minutes of detraining, I had four Blogger Bingo contacts. They were pleasant, but not bonding experiences. And that was it. The end.+ No more Blogger Bingo sightings.

I also learned of the Ravelry party too late to change my train tickets, and didn't know about the Ravelry meet-up until I got home. Not having computer access for several days aced me out of some potentially chummy activities.

I did have a lovely chat with some Boston Red Sox fans,& whom I had to stop so I could find out what was going on with the ALCS, as I was staying in a sport-free home.

But there was nobody to pal around with, nobody to have lunch with and I never even saw anybody remotely famous or on my list of imaginary friends or bloggoddesses.

[SUMMARY: I was so hoping to meet Juno.]

Rhinebeck was also like that Christmas when you're a kid, about 11 or 12, where you still long for toys and enough candy canes and chocolate Santas to make you queasy, but when you open the hundreds of presents with your name on the tags, you find that overnight you apparently became an adult and you got a whole bunch of underwear and socks and maybe a sweater and a clock radio.=

I had such anticipation for new, unusual, fresh yarns (to me, at least) and there just wasn't much. Some, yes. Not a total bust. But not nearly what I'd figured the mothership would bring.@

I also thought, this being the Grandmammy of Them All,# there would be thousands of vendors, many with brand new yarns unveiled at Rhinebeck for the very first time. There would be independent dyers, maybe new breeds of fleece spun into fabulous new yarns. There would be deals.

I guess the unveilings take place at big indoor conventions rather than festivals. TNNA and perhaps Stitches get cool previews and new stock. Rhinebeck? Rhinebeck suffers from what a lot of things I travel to suffer: I can get it down the street. I can get it on the Innernets. There's not a lot of real discovery.

Like this: they opened a Sephora in Denverish this summer (stick with me, this is an analogy). All the glow of going to Sephora in Vegas or Sephora in SoHo is gone. I can get it down the street.

I used to make a special trip to Fresh in NYC when I went because I love their stuff and it wasn't available in Denverish. Now Neiman-Marcus and Sephora carry it and I can just run down to Cherry Creek and pick some up when I run low.

[SUMMARY: Not the same thrill.]

The amount of Berroco and Cascade and Rowan I saw at Rhinebeck was disheartening. And it wasn't sale-priced. Now, if I could've gotten Rowan Tapestry for half of what I'd pay for it at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack, that might have made a difference. But it was the same old Rowan at the same old price. Maybe even more expensive.

And there were -- I would almost swear -- stealth representatives from Michael's or AC Whatever-you-have-on-the-east-coast. Oh, they didn't say they were from Michael's. No, they said they were from Aunt Neva's Homey Little Yarn Shoppe in Fuzzytown, Connecticut, but the yarn said different.

The largest stalls were put up by yarn shops selling (mostly) the kind of craptastic squeaky petroleum yarn and sniffed-at novelty yarn we tend to look down upon. In quantity, no less.

Yes, my friends, if you buy 10 balls of Lion Brand Fun Fur, you can get 10% off.

[SUMMARY: My Mecca is populated by bulk-bought eyelash yarns?]

I did the whole thing (even the gem and mineral show) twice, and the vendor stalls all three times... at least. By 3:00, I was ready to leave.

Now, it wasn't bad. I know it sounds like a lot of whining and complaining.

The weather was beyond gorgeous. Perfect temp, perfect sun, perfect humidity, perfect breeze... perfect. I can't imagine a more beautiful day.

I saw a man save a woman's life with the Heimlich Manouever. I saw David, the Cute Kilt Guy leave the beer line without hesitation to grab a bottle of water for her. I saw her daughter scream and shake and cry and I rubbed her back and hugged her.‡‡ Which made me feel useful, even if she didn't want to see my yarn purchases.

I ate an organic, whole wheat and oats brownie (of all things) and it was yummy.

And when I got stuck at the train station, waiting for the train that got stuck over-long at customs coming back from Canada, I met some lovely knitters and finally had some bonding time.

I found my way back to Jeff's in the dark on the subway and felt like I made some final step in my New York certification.

I only bought three skeins of yarn (two kinds), so I didn't go broke or have the misery of hauling an extra 50 lbs through the airport, taking the chance that the yarn suitcase§§ would go on vacation to Tahiti without me.

[SUMMARY: Oh, silver lining...]

And I'd like to go again. But next time, next time I will be sure to have a plan in place. I don't want to do it alone. I want to meet lots of cool people and shop with them and compare our purchases at lunch and stuff.

[SUMMARY: Where my stitches at?%%]

Pictures tomorrow.

You get to see the guy on the Percherons¶¶ for the hundredth time.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I was behind him in the beer line. He got a bottle of water for the lady who choked. I insisted he get back in front of me. It had all to do with gallantry and NOTHING AT ALL to do with a man in a kilt and a particularly nice rear view.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Except David, the Cute Kilt Guy.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not that either of those ever happens. Uh-uh. All runs like Swiss watchworks here in landland.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): 'Cause, y'all know, the gods are watching.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): And by "us," I mean "me."

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked - hey, I'm running out of symbols here): That whole impetus thing is me, not Cheryl. Cheryl's not nearly so snarky.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yeah, I'm not going to let that go anytime soon. It was one of my favourite things I got this trip. And I still feel a little in-crowd for having it.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): All apologies to Red. I'll still help bury her in the drainage by Comfort Dental. I just needed a name. And, apparently, a footnote.

+FOOTNOTE (on the plus side): One fabulous side-effect of Blogger Bingo is that I won a prize! Stitchy McYarnpants just emailed me to tell me I won a lovely needle case from Caro Sheridan. See? I knew Delores wouldn't let me down.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): The nice girl wearing the Green Monstah shirt didn't even flinch when I addressed her as "Random Red Sox fan."

=FOOTNOTE (all things being equal): Which was not purchased for you with the intent that you learn all you can about Casey Kasem's Top Forty Countdown, but so you can get your own lazy ass out of bed for school so your mom doesn't have to anymore because you're plenty old enough to pour your own Cheerios. Years down the line, you will split your lip open pulling the thing down on your face trying to hit the snooze button for the umpteenth time. And by "you," I mean "me."

@FOOTNOTE (atted): And why is it by the time I got there, halfway through day one, there wasn't enough of many of the yarns I loved for a sweater? Two hundred and fifty yards of worsted weight doesn't speak to my needs.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): All apologies to the National Western Stockshow and Rodeo and the Tournament of Roses Parade.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Yes, there was a gem and mineral show. The Mid-Hudson Valley Gem & Mineral Society had a whole barn. I got my dad a tshirt.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): OK, I'm not good for much, but I can give a hell of a hug.

§§FOOTNOTE (dangerous curves): Which already took a detour to Chicago on the way to Newark and now has more frequent flyer miles than I do.

%%FOOTNOTE (two percent): All apologies to Ravelry and its shirts.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (the rare double-paragraph): Actually, I think he said they were Belgian Draft Horses, but I'm pretty sure "Percherons" is funner to say.

Aaarrrggghhhhh!!!

Land Emergency!

Must work!

Seriously!

Miss you!

Aaarrrggghhhhh!!!

The Cop-Out Post

I didn't even turn my computer on yesterday, so no pictures yet.

[SUMMARY: "Ennui" is so much prettier than "lazy."]

I had a lovely time, thank you all for your jealousy and well-wishes.

[SUMMARY: *mwah*!]

I learned an immense amount† about modern art‡, cheese making,§ Cuban food, Cormo, collisions of celestial bodies,^ Central Park, Blue Faced Leicester, fringe European metal music, Amtrak, taxis in Dutchess County,¶ humidity, tourists, luggage in subway turnstiles and expectations.#

[SUMMARY: Into the twilight, endlessly muttering.]

The way I figure it, I don't have to struggle for blogtopics for a week-and-a-half. I have my NY state of mind and the Rockies to keep me going.

[SUMMARY: Y'all are in so much trouble.]

Until I get my blogshit together, allow me to turn you on to some odd European niche metal:

Rhapsody of Fire - Italian operatic metal. Ten minutes. Worth the time, if for no other reason than the four-minute preamble by Christopher Lee and the bridge by same.

Finntroll - Finnish troll metal% sung in Swedish. Begs the question, "Yes, but do they take *themselves* seriously?"

And this little time waster I've been saving for a sub-lick-the-pig sort of day like today: Fly Guy.

[SUMMARY: Smoke and mirrors... hey! Look over there!]

Now, if y'all will excuse me, I have to go start setting up to try for Rox tix.††

Tomorrow, maybe even pictures. Depends on the level of *cough* ennui in here.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): In aggregate, not necessarily piecemeal.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): At least a good, solid confirmation of what I do and don't like and what pisses me off.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You read right.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Don't get excited -- not even remotely C-battery or rug burn related.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Home of Rhinebeck.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There will be no surprises about the conclusion to which I came, but you may be surprised about the disappointments that precipitated the hackneyed and totally self-helpesque inner conversation on expectations. Don't hate me because I'm obvious.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): You read right.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Did I say that out loud? I meant WORK. I must get to WORK.

GO ROCKIES!

Rhinebeck Wardrobe Update

In the spirit of true femininity (oh, watch me guppy to the stereotype), I am changing my mind about what I will be wearing Saturday, for all you Rhinebeck Bingo players who may be interested.

When Shanny called last night and said, "Come on down and see if we can make last call,"* I was already, well... naked and ready for bed. So I threw on the coziest, easiest thing my eyes fell upon and I thought, "This is what I should wear for Rhinebeck."

It has so little to do with fibre, but is comfy, warm and distinctive.

I will be wearing my Hurley Midgets sweatshirt (giant, heather grey, black and orange lettering... kinda like Erin here) and my orange tennies, thus:

I will, as promised, be carrying my Delores Van Hoofen limited edition tote bag that proudly proclaims, "I'm a square!"

I'll be the one singing, "I Feel Pretty," or maybe, "I Enjoy Being a Girl," or, "I Feel Pretty"...

*I feel I should point out to anyone not a regular that this is not so much an alcoholic thing as a "cut me some slack my team won the Pennant" thing. See posts below.

Bon Voyage!

Rhinebeck Countdown: T-minus and counting, play clock at 3 days

Fewer words than you're used to, I got all manner of crap to take care of before I leave at (get this) 4:00 tomorrow morning.

And, y'know... didn't get *that* much sleep last night.

Here is how the movie people Bogart a parking lot:




Here are my new earrings (glass skulls), which I am wearing every day:




Here is a funny story that you will recognise as an ideal situation to take my car keys from me: One day last week, I went for lunch and I happened to look at the old billboard (like this) because Hans said to me once, "I don't know any of the guys they have on that billboard." So I looked at the billboard. And when I came back, I glanced out the window and said, "G Brown. I know who G Brown is."

About two hours later, I looked up and this was my view:




I never saw anyone change the artwork. Either billboard installers are sneaky like cactus or I am so completely oblivious I didn't notice an acre of change right under my nose. Almost literally.

To make it all better (in case, say, you're a D'Backs fan), here are fibre pictures.

Here is Yorick as a misshapen lump of felt:

Here is Yorick as a pinned out misshapen lump of felt:

Here are two Yoricks battling for Supremacy of the Box:

The Good News: The heads shrunk (I can't tell you how much I wish I had time to play with that whole concept. I would be really funny) more than I would have liked, but the scarf is still drapey and will likely not be possessing any cats or coffee makers any time soon.

The Bad News: I still have to cut out the eye- and nose-holes. And my scissors -- all eleventy-billion pairs of them -- are missing.

And 'cause y'all are knitters (sorry, Brother... don't mean to paint you with the knitterly brush... MANY of y'all are knitters), I know how you like to see the seams:

That's a three-needle bind-off (my first). It took about two hours because I started by binding front to back with a too-short tail, then I bound front to front with a too-short tail (what do you suppose I thought had changed?), then I had to get a separate piece of yarn to do the bind-off, then I said, "Fuck it, I'm felting. I don't have to get jiggy with the join."

And 'cause I know how y'all (sorry, Brother) like to see how the back looks:




That's all, folks! See some of you in Rhinebeck, see the rest on the flip-side next week!

XOXO
M

GO ROCKIES!