Goodbye 2012

Goodbye, 2012!

Today is the last day of 2012.  I think it's appropriate that I finish up my scarf and get it blocking before the clock strikes midnight.  It is a self imposed deadline (there's that dreaded word again).  I must finish this scarf before the end of the year and I'm oh so close.

And . . . I'm done.  There it is.  So pretty, a bit scratchy but DONE.

Solveig

Here's the scoop:
Yarn: Loðband Einband / Icelandic Laceweight
Pattern: Strik by Vedis Jonsdottir 
Published in Einband Icelandic Lace

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!!

Memory Lane

While browsing my Ravelry notebook, I came across this little sweater I made and I thought to myself, in a lilting southern accent, "My goodness, I have a beautiful niece."  And then, "That is THE cutest little sweater I ever did knit."   That might have been Scarlett O'Hara.

 Soooooh (that's a Minnesota accent) It's sort of cheating to bring up knits from a million years ago and pretend like it's a new knit, but since it's so cute and I really don't have anything new to post regarding fiber artsy stuff, this will have to do.

My little Lizzy moved away to Utah.   I miss her terribly, but we all make a valiant effort to see each other.  Oh, and I gave her the sweetest little toy mouse.  I'll tell you all about it in the next post.  Am I sounding southern again?  Debbie H. - do I capitalize southern?

If you'd like to make an adorable sweater like this for your favorite little one, here are the specs:

Cable Yoke Jacket
by: Kyoko Nakayoshi
Needles: US7 and US8
worsted weight yarn -

GREAT pattern - online help if you get stuck, but you won't.

Ice Time

Remember when I got those contact lenses for the first time in my life. . . hmmmm . . . back in October, I think.  Getting them in has been a trial.  I managed to get them in myself two days in a row over Christmas.  Tenacious vanity won over easy practicality.  But now I keep losing my glasses.  So this morning, I tried to get them in without glasses and it's the blind leading the blind only it's just me and myself because I got a little cranky with Mr. and he left for work and so it's just me and my blurry fingertips and somewhere on there, an invisible contact lens.

Anyway, found my glasses, so it's back to easy practicality.  It's a million degrees below zero here in the tundra they call Minnesota.  However, it's never too cold for our state pastime.

Last year, the lakes were frozen and there was no snow, so it was like having the world's largest rink.  This year, we had (ok, my brother-in-law) to shovel a little rectangle to fit the family and someone got a little crazy and shoveled a path along the lake.

Even our dogs play hockey.  True story.

Merry Christmas (a day late and a cup of coffee too short) to all of you and happy holidays to the rest.
ps.  If you're wondering about my knitting, I did not finish the scarf for my niece.  Instead, she'll be getting a nice little package in the mail.  Hopefully before New Years.

Þorláksmessa

Tonight we celebrated Þorláksmessa with my husband's family.  My sister-in-law and her family hosted all of us at their beautiful home - decked out for Christmas. 

Þorláksmessa is an observance of Iceland's only saint and is always celebrated on the 23rd of December. 

Þorlákur was a 12th century Icelandic bishop, who was revered as the patron saint of Iceland after his death in 1193. He was (finally) canonized by Pope John Paul II in 1985. - Jol in Iceland

Traditionally, we would have eaten fermented fish, but in reality, no Minnesotan of sound mind would consider this a meal.  I've tried it.  I don't want to talk about it.  As with most immigrants, our family has modified certain elements of tradition because of what is available (and edible) here in Minnesota.  So the menu will include hangikjöt (smoked lamb), creamed potatoes, sweet/sour red cabbage and fried flat bread called laufabrauð.  

I just learned tonight from my mother-in-law that the cream was used to cover up the potatoes which were 

often bruised, rotting and 'unsightly' this time of year.

Those are my twerps.

That's Lumpy and me.

Good times.

All is calm. . .

What is everyone up to tonight?  I feel like the Christmas deadline is looming and the fact that I think of it as a deadline makes me mad.  But there it is.  I have the Robert Frost poem replaying in my head,

"And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep."

Screw it.  My house may smell like stale laundry and the gifts are not under the tree but unwrapped and stuffed in big store bags in my basement.  But gosh darn it.  I want myself some peace and quiet.  And just now . . . right this very moment, I have it.  To my left, a football game is bounding along with a father/son audience.  In front of me, my girl child is reading a book.  A real live book . . . on my iPad.

And over there, at the kitchen table sits 12 year old Lumpy and his online medieval battlefield game.  Just now he moves in front of the fire and tries to displace her majesty.

And I in my kerchief am merrily (yes, merrily) knitting along on a Christmas gift for my gorgeous auburn haired niece.  She will love this.  She's cool that way - being a college kid and all.  She appreciates the hand-knit variety.

Merry Christmas to you Christmassy people.  And for the rest of you:
" Happy Festivus for the rest of us."

Dreadlocks and Redheads

Nothing like a little dreadlocked Anne Lamott to invigorate my holiday spirits.  She spoke at a local church here in the Twin Cities.  She was a delight and a breath of warm air (she flew in from Cali).  She makes me think of what a really cool aunt/mom would be like.  I want to be a really cool aunt/mom with dreads but they sound like a lot of work, so I'll stick with my boring mom hair.  I'll just be a kind-of-cool aunt.  

And up there, I'm working on a lacy scarf with some gifted Icelandic Lopi.  Remember those cool Icelandic ladies and the pope I spent the evening with at the Italian restaurant?  They gave me this pretty yarn.  Aren't they sweet?   That's the true color, thanks to my nifty camera.  I have a beautiful red-headed niece who may bet getting this for Christmas if I get it off the needles on time.

Spam-a-Lot

If you blog, then you get spam.  It shows up as comments and sometimes, it's worth sharing.  This is probably my favorite SPAM comment so far.  I wonder who/what does the translating.  Be sure to read to the last sentence. Enjoy:

"Many thanks most for your exciting as well as helpful opinions up to now. Considerably food regarding idea. A few attention grabbing strategies plus viewpoints all about. I can't state that To be sure with everything else which you point out when i didnrrrt admit the actual legitamecy of this write-up We would often be not aware in your understanding. Here is my homepage Treatments For Genital Warts on Kleiner - Icelandic Doughnuts"

Change of Plans

Plan A:  Up and early, dressed in your Sunday best and pile into the car for an Icelandic Christmas celebration at the decked out Swedish Institute.  

Plan B:  Light a fire, pull out the sleds and snow pants, slow down and enjoy the first true sight of Winter.

More often than not, Minnesota looks like a picture postcard of winter by November.  This year we've been enjoying and lamenting (we're a confused bunch) the warm, dry, unusual season.  Here was my drive to work a few days ago:

And here we are today. . .

HOORAY!

 Yes.  Someone got a new fancy camera (and contact lenses).  And someone is very happy.  



And someone took it to bed with her last night and woke up with it . . . late . . . this morning.  



And someone couldn't leave the pretty little thing sitting at home all by itself, so someone brought it to work and began experimenting.

And playing.

 And creating.

 And having a wonderful time.

 

I have a very happy job.

With wonderful little people (and some pretty cool big people, too).

My home town.  My dear little town.

Dinner, the Pope and iPhones

We had dinner last night with a bunch of crazy Icelanders.  OK.  They weren’t really crazy.  Actually, they were some of the sanest and polite people I’ve met in long time.  Intelligent conversations (except my input about the travails of shopping.  Why did I talk about shopping?  I hate shopping.  And how arrogant Apple is for putting out their new iPhone with that tiny new charger thingy that means we all have to go out and buy an expensive adapter, which should really just cost pennies.  And that I'll stick with my 3G and my hubby to his Android, thank you very much).

But back to those really nice people from Iceland.  Their husbands are the best dressers.  Really.  If my own Mr. Darling would dress like an Icelandic man he would get a lot more action.  I really think that’s true.  But then again, if I dressed more like those sassy fashion forward Icelandic women, then I’d probably feel like getting more action.  I’ll have to talk to him about that.

The occasion of the gathering was a surprise birthday party for my sister-in-law.  Her generous husband treated all of us and their two beautiful daughters and a tag along boyfriend to an evening out at an Italian restaurant.  At that table, we had representation from Denmark, Iceland, Sweden, Holland and if you count my mutt-pedigree, Austria, Scotland, England and Norwegian - all sitting around a table with a life-sized bust of Pope Benedict.  It felt unusually global for a girl who grew up thinking the Schmidt family down the street was exotic because their name didn’t end with a “son” – Johnson, Anderson, Thompson.

A highlight of the evening (besides discovering that one can eat Paleo at an Italian restaurant) was when I managed to score an invite to Sigga’s house where she will show me how to knit an Icelandic Lopi sweater. 

http://www.istex.is/english/free-patterns/

 They cost hundreds of dollars to buy; even more expensive if you include the airfare to Iceland, but you can also learn to knit, buy the yarn and spend 50 hours making your own.  Of course, I already knit, I have lopi yarn left over from my last trip to Iceland, and I’m hoping with Sigga’s expertise, it won’t even take me 50 hours to finish. 

So here’s to surprise birthday parties, Pope Benedict XVI and wool sweaters!

Skol!

Pillow Talk

An FO.  I finished a project!

How disappointing would it be to browse the web, type in "pillow talk" and come up with a blog about knitting and crochet . . . crocheting?  I'll have to look that up.

Maybe we fiber bloggers should take a stand and shake things up a big.  We need to work on our PR - kick the granny thing.   . . . make things more sexy and edgy.  You know?  Like . . . like being featured in a tampon advertisement.  Ok.  So maybe not tampons, but that's how I found out about this cool cat.   She does amazing work.

This is Jesse Hemmons.  She is a gangsta yarn-bomber. 

“Street art and graffiti are usually so male dominated,” Ms. Hemmons said. “Yarn bombing is more feminine. It’s like graffiti with grandma sweaters.”

Yarn bombing takes that most matronly craft (knitting) and that most maternal of gestures (wrapping something cold in a warm blanket) and transfers it to the concrete and steel wilds of the urban streetscape. Hydrants, lampposts, mailboxes, bicycles, cars — even objects as big as buses and bridges — have all been bombed in recent years, ever so softly and usually at night. - from an article in The New York Times

If you want to check out this wowser yarn bomber, you can see her website at ishknits.com.  It's worth a look.  She will inspire you to run out to Ragstock and buy up a bunch of sweaters so you can start yarn-bombing your town. 

And regarding that cute pillow up there:  I made it from some funky cheap acrylic yarn and two, even cheaper, IKEA pillows stacked together to make one big fabulous couch throw. 

NERD ALERT!

"Bilbo Baggins.  I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure."

Yeah.  I knit.  I watched Star Trek and thought Worf was hot.  And yeah.  I am a total Tolkien freak.   I am a suburban housewife that spends a lot of time either at work, a dance studio or on the sidelines of a football field with my knitting needles and crochet hooks hidden deep in my bag.  But even deeper - my well-worn copy of The Hobbit, by J.R. Tolkien.

LOTR* fans, behold The Hobbit trailer.

And guess what?  Peter Jackson is on board, as well as Martin Freeman as Bilbo Baggins, Ian McKellen as Gandalf, and Andy Serkis as Gollum.  Due out in theaters on December 14th. 

If you can't wait that long, you can join in on Hobbit Day by having a Hobbit type feast with your buds and walking around barefoot all day.  True story.


*Lord of the Rings, man. . . keep up!

I've gone caveman . . . cavewoman, actually.

I've gone Paleo.  For those of you still living in caves, Paleo is a reference to the new diet fad (yes, it's a diet fad no matter how you slice it) that regulates your intake of food based on what our Homo sapien ancestors ate as we evolved into humans.  Apparently, they did not eat grass.  This means that pancakes and pizza are not on the menu.  In fact, all dairy, gluten and grains are not an option.

Why would any rational human being give up cheesecake?  Apparently, after 30 days of eating like Fred and Wilma, I will be a few pounds lighter, have almost no bloating (and don't we all), lower bad cholesterol, higher good cholesterol and an overall feeling of wholesome happiness.  If you are rolling your eyes, you're kindred spirits with my book club ladies.  We discussed this Paleo thingy last week and I volunteered to try it out. 

Kirsten, which I've been pronouncing as "Keersten" behind her back until I asked her and she corrected me - it's pronounced "Kersten") is a crazy fun lady at my book club that can best be described as my patchouli loving, raw milk drinking, free-spirited Republican friend.  She is brilliant and funny and articulate and makes me wish I had a higher I.Q. and as many past lives as she is certain she's had.  Anyway, she's been on this damn diet and I have seen with my own eyes that not only does she look wispier these days, but also looks calm and healthy.  Those weren't the eyes of a starved, crazed, pancake-craving she-wolf. 

So here I am on day 4.  Significant changes?  Meh.  Well.  There is the no-bloating or feeling yucko after I eat.  I hadn't noticed I felt that way until I didn't feel that way.  There you go.  There is also the uncomfortable conversation you have with your significant other regarding achem . . . things coming out "down there" and its variations, but I will spare you that and save it for my spouse.  I don't feel hungry.  I'm eating like a horse.  I have had this insanely intense craving for chocolate which is new for me and easily staved by sneaking downstairs at night and eating a square of Lindt dark chocolate with sea salt, but since it's in the middle of the night, it doesn't count.

Softpedia

This diet can go two ways.  I'm going to bloat up to 200 pounds like this paleolithic sculpture and my cholesterol will shoot into the you-need-to-take-meds stratosphere - OR - I will be pushing this diet on all of my friends and family who will listen to me and hopefully see that I no longer sport my muffin top. 

More to come . . .

Here's a kicker for you . . . an Icelandic sheep fleece is going to set me back fifty bucks.  Plus, I have to buy carders.  That's another $60-80.  A spinning wheel will cost several hundred dollars.  Top that off with lessons and my total cost of a finished pair of mittens from a raw fleece will set me back about $800. 

No sane person would do this, right?  The other day, I found myself covered in manure, fuzz, lanolin and bits of hay.  I'm draining our already strained bank account and I'm probably going to end up with a pair of itchy mittens that one of my kids will loose on the school playground the first day it snows.  And then I find that the lamb fleece I'm washing is not long enough to be spun.  Chalk it up to a learning experience.  I now know how to wash fleece.

Carl Larsson - Little Girl at Spinning Wheel

Why am I still determined to see this project through?  It is a bit of the inherited stubborness?  Is it the historian in me?  I was actually dropped on my head as a child.  That would explain a lot.  A lot.

I eat steak.  It doesn't mean I would like to go out and shoot myself a cow, skin it, gut it, butcher it.  It's bad enough that when I want a pair of boot socks I grab a $20 skein of yarn and spend a week (or two) knitting a pair.  I can't count anymore the number of friends that wonder why I don't just run to the store and pick up a pack of socks for $10.

Why do we make cookies and cakes from scratch when we can buy a box and 'just add water'?

I have a bee in my bonnet to sheer the sheep and ride the fiber train all the way through to a finished product.  Actually, I'll just watch the sheering.  I'd like to think my great Icelandic amma is smiling down on me when she's probably laughing at me instead.

Crochet Frosting

Thank you for your gentle suggestions for me to get over myself.  I have an iPhone and iPad an a teeny tiny iBrain so I'll start posting pictures.  It was suggested by my good friend "Anonymous" that I have it repaired.  That's a great idea but not only am I a Knitter with a capital K, but I'm also Lazy.  We'll see.  I may get desperate.

Here is what I've been working on:

I have a family room that is all beige and pale yellow.  Snore.  It needed a little color, so along with the Ripple blanket from hell, I am going to be so crafty and cover these cheap IKEA pillows with crochet frosting.  I mean, look at it.  Isn't she a beaut?  The other side will have a different color scheme and stitch pattern.  Haven't decided yet.  It has to be painless and mindless.

If you're still JUST a knitter, I highly recommend you buy yourself a hook and start covering stuff in your home with crocheted yarn.  It's therapeutic.