Crazy Lanea

Chicago

Last weekend, I went out west to visit with Two Sock Knitters, and another Sock Knitter, and a whole passel of contra dancers.  The University of Chicago hosted a fantastic dance weekend, complete with the fantastic bands Cosmic Otters and Nightingale, and the amazing callers Adina Gordon and George Marshall.  We went to tons of yarn shops, a quilt show, three of the four contra dances the weekend provided, restaurants, Irish sessions--I haven't caught my breath yet. 

We get the fun started with a trip to The Fold.  Of course we did--how could we not.  Jonathan got some spinning pointers from Toni, and Meg and I dedicated ourselves to supporting small business in the greater Chicagoland area. 

Toni has a thing or two worth considering on offer, in case you haven't had a chance to stop by.

   

As usual, I didn't take enough photos, and many of the ones I did take aren't great.  Our surroundings for the dance weekend were beyond compare, though.  The university's buildings are gorgeously ornate.  Even the locks were gorgeous. 

The stairs were worth the price of admission.

And the dancing and music?  Hot.  Inspirational.  Astoundingly good.   What a dance weekend. 

As if I wasn't happy enough with all of these things, both bands included footwork in their sound.  Ahhhhhhh.  These are Keith's feet during Nightingale's Friday night dance.  I couldn't take pictures on Saturday night because I had too much dancing to do.

I'll tell you about the quilt show and my visit with another sock knitter next.  Now, I need to go prepare for the continued remodel here at our home sweet home and count the days till my next chance to dance.  Soon, I'll be able to dance on my own floors for the first time in years AND I'll be rid of the biggest source of allergies in my life.  The mere thought is making my eyes well up with tears of joy.   Get on your feet, and tune up your instruments, people, because the floor is going to catch fire under your toes if I have anything to say about it. 

Filling in the gaps

I ended up scrambling to affix beads to the points of the Heather Ale sweater on the metro yesterday morning.  I was desperate to wear this thing, and a night's rest gave every single beadless point the chance to curl right up.  I'm not entirely sure about these purple beads--I have clear ones in the same size and shape I could swap these for.  Waffle waffle . . . What say you?

I've also had to come to terms with the fact that the steel circulars are making me a crazy tight knitter.  I like my socks very very sturdy, but this is madness. 

I've used slightly more than 50 grams of yarn--that's more than half of a huge ball of sock yarn--to get about halfway up my foot.  And I only wear a size eight.  I need to frog and either start again on wooden needles or on a much larger size steel needle.  Grumble grumble. 

To soothe my temper, I started these.  Purlewe  gave me this amazing mystery sock yarn at the KR retreat last fall.  I kind of want to eat it.  Or possibly marry it.  In the meantime, I'm making some horseshoe lace socks out of it.  On wooden needles. 

Wiyos, Steeplechase, Montpelier, and knitting

Friday night, we went with Square and Tara to see the Wiyos at the Lyceum.  Hot damn, that was a good show.  I knew I'd like the band as soon as I saw their name--they take their name from the Whyos, one of the most terrifying Irish gangs ever to stalk the streets of the Five Points.   Me, I like a side of Irish history with just about anything.  Also, washboards don't hurt.  Their performance was great, and I was absolutely blown away by both their musicianship and their songwriting skills.  So go buy their CDs. 

Saturday, Scott and I went to see some Steeplechase races in Middleburg.  I was worried at first that we'd be in the midst of the (holds hands tight to chest as if holding reigns in prissy fashion) horsey set, rather that the (mimes shoveling stall) horse folks I'm used to spending time with.  Well, I needn't have worried.  The folks who invited us out were great fun, and they forced us to eat tons of delicious food and drink Kir Royales and good wine and beer.  AND several kind folks were deeply and sincerely interested in my knitting.  Sniff sniff.  They liked me.  They really liked me.  And, well, a few of them started maneuvering towards demanding hand-knits.  Smart people, those.

A lot of the horses scratched, apparently because it was ridiculously hot for October and because our ongoing drought makes the course much harder on the horses and the jockeys.  So most of my photos had three riders at most.  Ah, nothing like a good gray horse.

Thankfully, there are always good bits of rust and lichen for me to catch with a lens.

Sunday, my Mom proved to be the very Cinderella the socks needed.  We met up to go to the fiber festival at Montpelier.   It was terribly hot, so I ended up only buying one skein of sockyarn.  And it was even commercial sock yarn (Trekking with bamboo, which I've been needing to meet in person for nearly a year).  Though, there's a distinct possibility that I inched closer towards ordering a ton of yarn from Jen at Spirit Trail.   She offered to deliver things to me at the Knitters Review retreat if I can make up my mind about yardage.  Hubba hubba.  I did plot running off with some particularly fetching camelids and sheep, but since I had the Toyota, I couldn't follow through.

Next, we went to Culpepper for lunch in nice cool AC and a quick trip to the store that wants my whole bank account.  One hand-painted skirt later, I headed home to knit and plant rhododendrons and azaleas on the silliest of Federal holidays. 

Breaking a Curse

When you study the ancient world, you study the concepts of curses.  When you watch every minute of extra material on Rome DVDs, you think about them even more.  And then, if you mix in some really good adolescent lit about a fantastical array of universes with lots of magic in them, and you maybe have a few cocktails now and again, and you have some trouble with knitting, well, you can see where logic might get twisted.

I ran into trouble with some socks.  That's a big deal for me, because I'm a touch obsessed with socks. I learned to knit specifically so I could knit socks.  I have trouble accepting the fact that my darling husband doesn't particularly want socks, and my wonderful Mom, who loves hand-knit socks very dearly, reacts badly to most wools and thus needs me to make her socks out of yarns I'm not always very fond of.  I think about socks a lot, and I want socks-in-process to behave themselves.  And they did, until they didn't.

First, some experimental socks knit out of Wildfoote in the colorway Bluegrass.  Ruadhan wasn't wild about the yarn, so she gave it to me.  I wasn't in love with it, so I figured I'd half-ass my way through a really plain pair of longer than usual socks with some calf shaping and see how it went.  That was a year and a half ago.  The problem was casting on the second sock.  I couldn't make it match the first--the same number of stitches on the same needles in the same yarn and the same ribbing pattern didn't match--the second sock was much bigger.  Frog, start over, cuss; frog, start over, cuss; frog, start over, cuss; frog, start over, cuss . . . You get the point.  So I set them aside.

Then came the kilt hose.  I like the first one a lot.  I started on the second, things seemed odd, I ignored it.  And then I noticed it was much bigger.  Sigh.  But knitting these has always seemed like a slow project, because of the vast number of stitches  and the general  slogginess of such plain ribbing.

Then came the third problem.  I wanted to make some lovely socks, I thought the original swatch was too drapey to wear very long.  I fudged some math and got started, thinking I'd make a pair of socks either for my Mom or for Ruadhan, both of whom have small feet.  Well, I went too far with the downsizing--these puppies don't fit the smallest adult feet around.

So I cast around for some options.  Friends suggested corn dollies, fire, denial, tested patterns, actual real math, etc.  I decided on a combination of drudgery, yarn sacrifice, and lovely distractions.

Exhibit one:

Drudgery.  Finished, fraternal twin Bluegrass socks.  The one on top is smaller, and obviously different in the color-patterning.  It's fine.  They're wearable.  And not on fire.  Socks are significantly less wearable when they're on fire, from what I've heard.

Exhibit two:

Sacrifice.  These puppies are done with.  Socks too small for Ruadhan are just too small to bother finishing, because kids' feet are differently proportioned than adult feet, and I'm no masochist.

Thee kilt hose?  Well, I haven't worked up the gumption to frog yet--that would be a lot of knitting wasted. So that's where the distractions come in.  I'm drowning my sorrows in a good project that hasn't betrayed me and a lovely gift from a friend.

The good project: The sockyarn blanket, of course.

I know it doesn't look very different, but that's because I put the leaf in the table.  I've added a few more rows of blocks to it, just because I can.  And because most people are taller than I am, and I want my visitors to be cozy too.  We will not, however, be discussing the edging until I'm in a safer place, knitting wise.   'Nuff said.

And the gift?  Brogan sent me two whopping warrior CDs of Momus and the Fomorians as a lovely surprise.  An embarrassment of riches, that is.   If nothing else, I can listen to Dig It while burying tricksie knitting in the back yard.  That'll learn it.

Folklife, homelife, and wedded bliss

As I mentioned last week-ish, during that phase when I was posting zippo, I went to the Smithsonian folklife festival with Bodwin, Ruadhan, Mapgirl, and Kevin.  It was blazing hot, but the festival covered Virginia, Northern Ireland, and the Mekong Delta.  So we couldn't miss it.

I tell you, I have never considered so decorating a vehicle.  I am a slug, I tell you.  Entirely devoid of artistic inspiration.  I don't think you can appreciate the insane amount of work that went into this bus from here.  Just trust me--they worked hard.

In addition to the wacky bus, there were some cool exhibits, particularly on ancient Ireland.  Shocker, me focusing on that.  Lookit!  A mini roundhouse.

I want us to make a full-sized roundhouse so badly, but it never really occurred to me to make a little one to use at demos.  I may have been hit in the head too many times for the thinking parts to be working right, these days.

And there were some repro tools, including a nalbinding needle,

And some lovely repro pots

And a cool repro stone figure

Tommy Sands was playing at the festival, so I filmed him singing "There Were Roses" (big download, there)  If you're not familiar with Tommy and you're at all interested in pacifism or peace in Northern Ireland, get familiar with Tommy.  And have a few pints with him if you ever get the chance--he's loaded with good stories and generally wheedles lots of free drinks out of the publican. 

We also went to our friends Barry and Sarah's wedding up in Pittsburgh.  Where I took horrible photos because I am just too shaky sometimes.  Espresso doesn't want me to be a photo-journalist. 

I came away with clearer photos, but none of the happy couple together.  We had a lovely time, and Barry and Sarah seemed to have a good time too, which is very important in a wedding. 

And then I went right back to the two sweatshops, one for web monkeys (I finished the bid bad new site), and one for Crazy Lanea, tailor to the Celts.  Here is the larger portion of the fabric pile I started with. 

About two-thirds of that has been cut into pieces for clothing.  I'm actually sewing several things for myself this year, because the pile of fabric I was hoarding for personal use was taking up far too much space.  I'm a bit panicked over how much work I need to do before next Saturday, so, er, let's distract the crazy girl with cat pictures before she cries, shall we?

Scott got a sander:

So Yarrow got a new toy:

Which he proceeded to defend rather viciously:

That face generally comes right before Speedwell falls prey to his  housemate.  Poor Speedwell.  As usual, he hid from the camera.

Back to sweatshop.

The Dog, the tunes, and The Areas of My Expertise

Because I know my place in all of this, I'll tell you what you're here for . . . Kayo is going to be fine.  He has the sort of injury dogs, and people for that matter, get from landing straight-kneed in a hole or coming off of a jump.  He gets some pain-killers for a few more days, and the ban on fetching has to continue a bit longer, and he gets to take some meat-flavored glucosamine, chondroitin, and mineral supplements from here on out.  Our charming vet did continually refer to Kayo's "advanced age," though, which concerns me.  Scott and I have decided that the next trick we'll teach him is "Be four again, Kayo!  Be four!  Good boy." 

Also, Scott pointed out last weekend that I still had a bunch of Borders gift certificates left over from Christmas.  But did I succumb and buy books?  No, I did not.  I bought music.  Well into the sixth month, and I remain mighty.  As promised, I've only bought knitting books, and very few of those.  But damn it, it is a pain in the ass to buy music at Borders.  Their stores have some asinine pricing system that randomly sells some CDs for 11 bucks, and some for 18 with no real middle ground and for no clear reason.  Also,  their stock is terribly limited, particularly for those of us who don't go in for MTV or classical.  But we're a bit closer to having all of the recorded Tom Waits and Bjork, and I added another Wainwright and a touch of Winehouse to the mix.

And now for the books . . .

The Areas of My Expertise by John Hodgman.

Being a devotee of hobos, I was bound to like this book.  I was pleased to see someone finally cover the great hobo-wars of the first half of the twentieth century, and the extensive list of hobo names (I just can't manage to settle on one for myself).  Also, I am happy to now know of the old furry lobsters.  We miss you, furry lobsters.  We do.

But the book did upset me a bit.

Apparently, Chicago is imaginary.  No Chicago.  It's all a lie.

Which seems to suggest that Rachel and Meg and Jonathan have some explaining to do.  Why the lies, friends?  Why the lies?  So much talk about an imaginary town . . . I just don't know what to think.

Right.  Read the book if you like well-written fake history and trivia. 

Done and dusted

They pulled it off.  The umpteenth Potomac Celtic Festival happened on Saturday on the other side of Morven Equestrian Center.  The weather was beautiful.  The turn-out seemed good.  Jinann, Jayme, and Janet came out to teach spinning.  We had a good turn out in Living History.  I did relatively little work.  We got to perform for some really charming people.  It was wonderful.  I'll say more when I get some sleep and dig out the camera.

Kayo had a tough weekend though--he seems to have injured his shoulder Saturday night on the way back in from his walk.  So one trip to the emergency vet Sunday morning, and another trip to his regular vet coming tomorrow, and fingers crossed that it's nothing more than a strain.  He's really frustrated that we won't play fetch or take him to the park, so I think it's not that painful. 

We also finally beat our not-all-that-old dishwasher to death, so a new one must be acquired.  Grumble grumble.  I can think of better things to spend money on, my oh my.  But the new one will work, and it will not smell, and it will be here in time for the weekend.

I think I'm also nearing the end of the sockyarn blanket.  I have either three or ten more squares to go, depending on whether or not I decide to add another row, and then lots and lots of edging.  I need to start a more interesting project soon so I don't turn against knitting.

I'd write more, but John Hartford just popped up on my tv.   God I miss that guy.  And I hate cancer--remind me to trap it in an alley and beat it to death . . .  Back to the knitting and the tunes. 

Feeding the archives

So, I finished copying all of our music to my new ipod this weekend, after more than a week of slavish tending.  Sheesh, what a pain.   I discovered that a few of our discs grew wings, which wasn't much of a surprise.   Still, losing four out of 800 or so isn't so bad.  And none of the stuff that ran off will be hard to replace.   What will be tough?  Arranging the myriad playlists I now need to construct so the 40 gig of music I just pumped into my new toy is really accessible.   

And I sifted through hundreds of Potomac Celtic Festival related emails to make sure I'm ready for this coming weekend.  Which you should spend at the Potomac Celtic Festival if you can. 

And we met the Yorks's new chooks.  Someone stole all of their pullets right out of their coop.  I don't think I've ever heard of that happening before in this area.  Anyway, the new chicks came from a school in the area, and they're putting on weight pretty quickly and trying not to look too delicious.

And we got to see the Woodshedders and Furnace Mountain String Band out at Beans in the Belfry over Memorial Day Weekend.  What a hoot.  Dami and her family, and Mike and Tara, and a bunch of their tune-head pals were there too. Both bands sounded great, and there was a fair amount of decent clogging space.  A couple of people talked to me about giving lessons, but they all lived out near Brunswick, and thus outside of an area I'd be willing to drive to regularly to teach.  Man, the exurbs sure are big.

And some knitting happened.  I don't want to jinx myself, but it looks like the blanket is nearing its final size.  Which is good news for my friend Elizabeth, because she is also making a blanket with leftover sock yarn, and she called dibs on whatever I don't use.  And since she taught me to really darn socks well, her "dibs" holds water.

And we got to have Zoie and Rooney stay with us for several days while Mike and Tara were at Graves.  Rooney can fold up smaller than any dog I've ever met.  I think that's the only thing Kayo doesn't like about the pup--dogs that fold up small can wiggle between me and Kayo, and Kayo does not approve.  Still, all three dogs and both people had a great time.  Speedwell decided that Rooney was his employee, and Yarrow, surprise surprise, turned into a total scaredy-cat for the first few days.  I guess the big bad cat isn't so bad after all. 

I tried to take a bunch of photos, but my digital camera doesn't reach the speeds I need for these dogs.  They're fast dogs.  Rooney is the pointer, and Zoie has her back to us: she's a boxer/lab mix, and one of the sweetest dogs on the face of the planet.  They rarely look like this, though. 

They generally look like this:

Champion wigglers, both.  Kayo, meanwhile, remains serene in his goofiness.

And now that the extra dogs are gone, Yarrow is a holy terror, I miss the other dogs, and Kayo is negotiating for an increase in his bone allotment.

Pop Quiz

1. A friend asks "Would you like two free tickets to see Tony Rice, Jerry Douglas, Allison Krauss, Dan Tymynski, Ron Block, and Barry Bales play tonight?" What is the appropriate answer?
a.  Hot damn!
b.  Sheewwww Doggie!
c.  Good lord willin' and the creek don't rise
d.  Do they sell beer there?
e.  All of the above

The last time we saw Tony Rice play he didn't speak at all on stage.  It was a couple of years after he developed dysphonia.  Tony Rice was touring with Bela Fleck, Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas and several other bluegrass luminaries.  It was a great show, but I really missed hearing Tony's voice.  This time around, he spoke a bit and had Allison and Dan sing his songs.   It was great to hear him chat with the band mates and introduce some of his tunes--there's something spooky to me about musicians who don't speak on stage.  Folk music is supposed to be, well, folky and open and relaxed.  I would still love to hear Tony Rice sing live one day, but I won't complain about my good fortune--not many people get a chance to see that sort of musicianship even once in their lives.    Dan and Allyson were both in good voice, and hot damn, Barry Bales can play some slap bass.  Good show all around. 

Thanks Mike and Tara, and thanks to your buddies who bailed on the show!  We had a great time. 

Five years, or twelve, or forever, depending on how you count it

Today is our fifth wedding anniversary, and a little over twelve years since Scott and I decided we were, well, us.  I generally try to quell the sap.  But I can't for a  single second hide the fact that I think I am one of the luckiest people in the world.  I met Scott when I was 16, we both ended up going to Tech and becoming really good friends there, and then risking our friendship for something even better.  Best bet I've ever made, that. 

A lot of our friends have anniversaries near ours, because they also thought Beltaine was a great time for a wedding.  It makes this time of year really celebratory.  Last weekend, we got to celebrate Aes and Phalen's 16th anniversary with May Wine and a May Pole.  This weekend, fun with sheep!  I've also been listening to Kristin Andreassen's (of Uncle Earl and Footworks) Crayola a bit too much, because I think it's the right kind of love song.  And also a kid's song.  And also a winner in the annual John Lennon Songwriting contest.  Wanna hear it?  You can download a free, legal copy here: http://www.jlsc.com/winners/2006b/lennon_awards.php  (Kristin is in the top left box).  Makes you want to play paddy cake, doesn't it?