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. 

Words words words

I tend to avoid lengthy, wordy posts.  At the risk of making myself sound stupid or lazy, a lot of words intimidate me.  Blame it on ADD, lack of sleep, not much time . . . blah blah blah.  I prefer pictures; loads of them.  I see a page of words and my mind begins to grow fuzzy and tired.  

My camera is broken.  Someone dear to me dropped it in the lake.  We snatched it up, dropped it in a bag of rice and after two days we checked - it still worked!  Still does, but there is a water mark on the inside lens that makes all of my photographs look like there's some sort of ghostly apparition on the right side.

I hadn't realized how attached I was to that little camera.  She went with me everywhere.  I took shameless amounts of pictures - mostly of absolutely nothing interesting.  But the beauty of digital cameras is that no matter how 'untalented' you are, eventually you will capture a moment or frame something so right that it deserves to be uploaded, printed, blogged or mailed to Aunty. 

Sigh.

So for the next few months, I'll be posting with my iPhone and iPad pictures (poor me).   And I'm going to make a valiant attempt to start posting again.  There is much to share and so much more to knit and crochet.

Love to all - get your blog on!

Here's a smile for you.

Scrap Pile

I spent my entire Saturday up to my elbows in warm, soapy lanolin water.  If you're just tuning in, I was given a bag of lamb's wool - fresh off the lamb.  The fleece was dirty. . . as all fleece off the farm is, so I'm told.  I wouldn't know.  I am a suburban gal.  I was able to divide the fleece into workable sections and I began my washing experiment.   I have NEVER done anything like this.  I buy my yarn.  I buy finished, clean (with the exception of Noro, which I swore I'd never use again), pretty yarn.  From a store.

But this was genuine, stinky, farmy, dirty, lovely fleece.  I'll skip most of the details and just tell you that you should not rush this process.  And you can really truly do this at home, in your very suburban backyard with nothing more than plastic storage bins, some dish soap, a couple of dog kennels and a patient family.

Here is what I did:

1. SKIRT THE FLEECE - don't I sound professional?  I googled this and found a few, very helpful, websites that explained that "skirting" your fleece essentially means pulling/picking off all of the really yucky bits (chunks of, achem, manure) and short-haired pieces - or "second cuts".  Sometime the sheep is sheered within an inch or two of its flesh.  An inexperienced sheerer is probably nervous about clipping the poor sheep's skin.  After the first layer is removed, the sheerer goes in for the second sheer to remove the rest of the coat.  This is the "second cut".   You do not want the second cut.

 I separated the sheets of fleece the best I could an set them on a dog kennel so that the bits would fall to the ground as I worked over it.  That photo above shows some of the yucky bits that I pulled from the fleece.

An experience sheerer will get a nice thick cut down to the skin on the first pass.  You want this full fleece cut.  

My labratory was spread out over the yard, but you get the idea of how simple it was.  I ended up not using the rubber gloves.  Your hands will LOVE the lanolin.

In the end, I found that soaking the fleece longer in warm, slightly soaping water, would produce cleaner fleece.   So it went something like this:

1. Fill two plastic bins with hot water. 
2. Add fleece to one bin with a tsp. of dish soap.
3. Let soak for several hours (don't agitate - you'll felt it!)
4. Press water out of fleece and transfer to the clean water in the 2nd bin.  The water should be about the same temperature.  Swish around gently and let it soak while you refill the first bin with more warm water.
5. Squeeze water from fleece and soak in warm (soapy) water again.
6. Repeat these steps until the water begins to run clear.  You don't need to use soap every time.  You'll strip off all of the lanolin (which isn't necessarily a bad thing - in fact, I used enough soap that in the end, I has stripped most of the oil/smell from the wool).

Here is a photo of "before" and "after" a good long soak. 

Washing this stuff took all day.  And then . . . AND THEN. . . I brought a chunk of the fleece to a spinning expert who took one look and said, "You can't spin this." 

Not even kidding. 

Ugh.

Alas, all is not lost.  I learned how to wash my first fleece and I am not intimidated.  In fact, when I buy (or am gifted . . . ) my first real FIRST CUT fleece, I will have an idea of how to prepare it for the next step:

CARDING

. . . to be continued . . .

Baa Baa White Sheep

I have a bag of wool.  Yes.  A real, honest-to-betsey bag of wool.  A gal from my hubby's work heard that I knit.  And so did what makes perfect sense . . . she sheared her little lambs and now I have a hefty bag of dirty, stinking, manure covered, straw filled bag of wonder and magic. 

I'm not even sure where to start.  To be completely honest, I'm afraid to touch it.  I guess this is where the city girl gets off the train. 

Well.  I suppose the obvious thing to do would be to clean it as soon as possible.  But how, pray tell, does one wash a bag of fleece?  It's so. . . . so. . . unclean. 

To the internet . . .

. . . stay tuned. . .

ps.  my camera is broken.  BROKEN.  I'm lost in a world with no pictures to post.

A Knitters Garden

 My garden these days is getting a bit rumbly bumbly.  The weeds are crowding around my perennials and veggies like ants to a lollipop.  The sun is scorching all but the most hardy of flowers.  See those Ox Eye Daisies starting to curl?

 The dill is starting to bend over - to tall to hold its own in this big mess of green.

Just on the other side of the rickety pickety fence, there is a nice shady place.  I spent a moment there today because I saw tiny red dots among the shade and green.

There was a decent breeze that kept these little raspberries dancing and bobbing about, which is why the picture is blurry.

Back up to my happy spot to work on my next project.

SUMMERTIME!!!

It's been so amazingly hot and humid.  The best part about living in Minnesota is that there is always a lake nearby to throw oneself into.   Here's a few shots of the best jumps caught on my camera.

Top the day off with a wee bit of heaven. . .

 Happy Fourth of July!!!