October 24, 2004


I was knitting in a Seattle coffeehouse yesterday afternoon with my dear friend Felina Schwarz. You know how it is when you knit in public: You want to look like knitting is a genteel art, of which you are a calm, competent practitioner.

I was working on the Karis poncho. I had attempted the first four rows of the second feather-and-fan repeat (a repeat of 36 rows) the night before, but somehow had managed to get things awry, so I began the afternoon by tinking those four rows. I was holding the ball of yarn in my lap, tinking a row, picking up the ball of yarn and rewinding the freshly tinked yarn onto it, setting the ball back onto my lap, tinking some more, rewinding some more....

Then I began making forward progress, knitting rows 1, 2, then 3, when I noticed that back at row 1 I had put 7 yarnovers into a feather, instead of the 6 that should have been there. Consequently, the remainder of that row -- about 50 stitches across -- was off. Well, that was nothing I couldn't ladder down to fix. While I didn't have any dpns handy for the laddering, Felina offered me the use of her vintage circular plastic knitting needle. I did use it, although the cord was coiled so tightly it kept whipping around and hitting me in the nose, and that plastic needle kept a death grip on those Kidsilk Haze stitches so that it was a struggle to get them to move. I tried to keep up the appearance of the calm knitter, though.

I tinked out those three partial rows, which resulted in a big loop of yarn hanging from my knitting. Now, the ball of yarn, which had slid off of my lap and onto the side of my chair, was looped through, over, and around this big loop of yarn. When I lifted up the ball of yarn to disentagle it from the loop -- I discovered I had managed to wrap the ball of yarn around my upper thigh.

In the words of Bob Dylan, I was tangled up in blue.

Felina pretended not to watch while I extricated myself from the yarn. As much as I wanted to be discreet, I made a spectacle of myself because I was laughing so hard. So much for being a competent knitter. Knitting as a genteel art? It probably looked as though I wasn't knitting, but rather, doing something obscene.

You will recall that Felina is a crackerjack knitter, but her forte is nagging. Well, her nag-o-meter was all a-quiver yesterday.

"You know what I find irritating about your new blog?" she asked.

Irritating?! No -- what?

"The font size is too small! I just get so irritated when I read it. That's why I haven't left any comments."

I'm all about keeping my readership happy, so, effective today, I've upped the font size.


Off to Camp: Allegra and I continue to enjoy our Camp Granada game. To play, you "drive" the little red camp bus around the board to destinations that are determined by cards that you draw. The destinations are places such as:

"Go to the William Tell Archery Range to hold your finger on the bulls-eye so the kids can see it better" (Allegra's fave)


"Go to the Haircut 5-cents [it's a guillotine] to take the wart off your buddy's knee."

And to add to the Gross-out Factor, if you succeed in driving to your destination without the bus breaking down, you get to collect an icky animal! Allegra is the perfect age for this game, as she is in the 6th grade and this is the year her class went to camp. She stayed in Cabin #3 -- guess which Bunkhouse she always claims as hers when we play?

Posted by Karen at October 24, 2004 01:49 PM

Thank goodness I no longer have to lift my lace gloved finger to change the text size on-screen. It quite exhausted me.

Posted by: Felina Schwarz at October 25, 2004 12:36 AM

Well, Karen, at least you made the 'public knitting' look like a fun form of aerobic exercise!

Posted by: Kim at October 25, 2004 03:13 PM

Oh, I could just see it!!! My knitting is like that--sometimes it's the most exercize I get in a day.

Posted by: Janine at October 25, 2004 06:49 PM