Home again, home again

I could get used to all this traipsing around with The Gentle Infidels. It's a much more pleasant, laid-back, enjoyable experience than it ever was with The Band From Hell. Nothing like a good dose of spring to start things off right:



News report today said we had the coldest April in 36 years. So seeing (and smelling!) the lilacs coming out is pure bliss. It was a perfect day for a ferry ride - saw some harbour seals on the way, and a few bald eagles - very cool. Also, chilly on deck, perfect for a little extra cuddling:



Because I like you all so much, I did not post the smiley-er pic with the nostril shot. Friday's show in Victoria was in a funky cafe with the best spicy Mayan hot chocolate ever. Ever. Also, a few old friends that I hadn't seen in eons were there (including one who opened for the GIs), and we had a good catch-up.

Saturday, I'm afraid I woke up a little crabby. A mood not improved by the pretentious atmosphere and s-l-o-w service at the hip, overpriced breakfast joint downtown. (Though I must say, best Hollandaise sauce on Eggs Benny ever. Ever.) Mr.Q knows just what to do with me at times like that, though. He took me to the local Temple of My People, and settled down in the corner to read for as long as it took for me to regain my equilibrium.



He was appropriately responsive when I brought him skeins of camel & cashmere to fondle (oh, my! I restrained myself - barely - and the credit card remained intact....though I did almost need a "personal moment" to fully express my appreciation for the lusciousness of that particular yarn...) He helped me choose colours (though his way of "helping" might not be the most constructive: "I like them all. I think you should get them all.")

I only got 2, and not of the Camel Spin, but some sock yarn. With a little cashmere in it, to scratch the itch! Then I went back to the Solstice Cafe for another cup of that fab hot chocolate, while he browsed through the used bookstores.

Off to Duncan, a cool little town between Victoria and Nanaimo, where they had a second show booked at the funkiest little venue I have ever, ever been in. Ever. The Garage Showroom is above a neat indoor marketplace-cafe-bookstore, in an old timber-framed, wood-floored building. I can't find any photos of it, to really show how enchanting it was. I got just one of Mr.Q onstage:



But as cool as the stage looks (and it was very cool) it doesn't show the motley hodge-podge of the rest of the theatre: mix-and-match theatre seats for about 70 people, a couple of couches right in front of the stage, all manner of eclectic odds and ends - a kaleidescope tube over a lazy susan with sparkly rocks and a clay hippo; head scratchers (?!), a swiss-army-knife collection of bubble-blowers, hanging lamps, old cabinets...all collected & tended by the venue's manager, a wacky, lanky old leather-headband-wearing hippy called Longevity John, who has 10 little fuzzy hyper dogs.

It was very surreal. Also, Longevity John dialed up just about the best sound I've ever heard the GIs play with, and probably anyone else, too. And at the end of the night, he gave us all nose flutes.

We stayed with friends in Nanaimo for the night, and before we headed for the ferry home, they took us to their favourite diner for a (very) late breakfast. A much better experience than the morning before! Tina's is tiny, quirky, tasty & cheap. The walls are covered in 45s and Betty Boop memorabilia. There's a lot of red. I think it was love at first sight, anyway, but then I noticed the window where the kitchen puts the orders up:



Note the red velvet curtains. Held open by gold chains. Love it!

Home again, Monday again, doing laundry again...how quickly the routine takes over again! Off to start dinner for Mr.Q...I'm thinking of getting some pearls and heels to do my housework in. Just for authentic effect. But they'd probably look ridiculous with my bright pink flannel nightie, so maybe I'll hold off for now.

Live & Let Dye

A few months ago, I decided it was time to start thinking about knitting a sweater. The LYS had Cascade 220 on sale, on my birthday. It seemed like fate. After careful consideration, I picked a medium gray. Nice, classic, would go with everything.

And, I realized when I got home: boring as hell to knit. A winter's worth of pestering a certain Bunny got me a lesson in dyeing. We spent a fun evening changing boring gray to a variegated blue (what else!) But there was a hitch: the yarn had even more of a drinking problem that either of us, and after two separate batches of dye, there were still huge gray splotches. Which could in no way be excused as a "design feature." The Bunny had to go home, leaving me to play with the dye on my own, another day. (And lending me her dye pot & Magic Spoon - thanks!)

After careful review of the process, I got the essentials together:

If you look carefully in the top left-hand corner, you can see a bit of the gray before re-re-dyeing:

Several impatient days of letting the finished product dry finally yielded satisfactory results:

I took it outside to play in the sun this morning (after careful consideration, changing out of my bright-pink flannel nightgown to do so. The neighbours, having caught me taking pics of knitting and yarn in the shrubberies on several previous occasions, are already concerned about my sanity)

Yesterday, I swatched for my First Sweater. I wanted to do something all cabled and funky...but 1) didn't have enough yarn; and 2) thought I should start with something a little simpler the first time around. After rather an embarrassing amount of time poking around on Ravelry, I've decided to go with the Minimalist Cardigan.

I'm a little nervous, coz I got gauge with my swatch...which could be a good omen. Or it could mean that the Knitting Fates are preparing to play with me like Singe does with his mousy offerings, tormenting before going in for the kill...Anyway, I think it looks pretty, and I love how the colour knits up:

Now what I need is a name for the colourway. Suggestions, anyone?

While I was outside, I figured I'd take a photo of the first finished Charade sock:

The foot is not as short and stubby as it looks. Also, it's charading as a Charade sock, since about half-way down the cuff, and for no apparent reason, I changed the placement of the yarn-over. Ooops! By the time I realized it, I had already started the toe decreases. So, I'll just repeat the "mistake" on the second sock, and definitely call that one a "design feature" - my "interpretive version."

Off to pack for the weekend - more out-of-town gigs for Mr.Q, and I'm tagging along as the Official Groupie. (Also, um, there are yarn stores. One in an old Masonic Hall - and conspiracy theorist that Mr.Q is, he couldn't say no to that one!)

Gratuitous cute cat pics (none of Singe, who's currently in the doghouse, after a repeat of the multi-mouse incident two nights ago. Any suggestions for that - aside from making slippers &/or tacos out of the cat - would be most welcome!)

The landlord has reported that they snuggle like that outside on the lawn on sunny days. How cute is that? (Also, how cute are those hairy toes, hmmm?)

Skeletons in the family closet

I am probably going to catch a lot of flak from my family for this post. But I have been following my sister's angst-ridden attempt to come to terms with a long-shared family trauma, and it's time I get something off my chest. Put it out there, come clean, and move on. I hope I will be forgiven for this, but I am about to share a difficult - some might even say, shameful - family secret.

My family - bear with me, it's hard to put this in print for all the world to see - My family has hairy toes.

There. I said it. Hairy toes. We have hairy toes.

I know, I know. It's quite shocking, and my sisters may never speak to me again, now that I've typed this "out loud". But I really can't keep up the charade anymore. The strain has been giving me ulcers.

There has been some discussion of the trauma which makes certain people unable to deal with their hirsute digits. There has been discussion of the relative merits of plucking vs. shaving. There has been consideration of whether the inevitable comparison to hobbits is endearing or insulting.

After long, careful consideration, I have come to a decision. In an effort to accept myself and my genetics as they are; in an effort to learn to truly love myself, with all my imperfections; and as a protest against the patriarchal conspiracy that coerces women into all manner of tortuous self-mutilation in the name of "beauty" (Um, hello? Brazilian waxes, people? You want to tell me that isn't a conspiracy to disempower women?!)

In an attempt to address all of these issues, I have decided (gulp!) to leave my hairy toes alone. More, I will learn to love them, to let them run naked in the spring sunsine, to wear them proudly and publicly in sandals without socks (unless the socks are hand-knit, in which case the purpose is to show off the knitting, not hide the toes.)

My name is Gladys Quimby, and I love my toes.

(And since this is my blog, and I get to call the shots, there will be no discussion of the supposed unfashionability of socks-and-sandals. I am a knitter, I will show off my handiwork in whatever way I feel best, and if you don't like it, I will poke you with my pointy sticks. I'm just sayin'.)

June Cleaver, eat my dirt! (Or vacuum it, or something...pretty please!)

Used to be, when I was in university, that my apartment was never so clean as during final exams. What a great way to procrastinate on that term paper! I mean, really, who can concentrate on a final paper (Cultural Relativism & the Sociology of Art, anyone?) with a dirty bathroom? Housework is a great study aid! Yeah, that's it!

At this moment, I'd give a lot to have a term paper to write, in order to avoid scouring the tub. The whole "I'm gonna stay home and be a housewife all summer, won't that be fun!" novelty has worn off considerably since Friday.

Seems that cleaning the bathroom isn't on my Top Ten List of Favourite Things to do in Lieu of a Root Canal.

Free as a bird!

Well. No more unspeakable acts with the livestock for me! The shites at That Job made the decision for me...I was handed my walking papers today. Though the reason was supposedly due to "lack of work", it was really because of very badly disguised personal feelings of vindictiveness on the part of someone with the clout to get rid of me.

Guess people who stand up for themselves & call bullshit make her nervous...And I can certainly live with that! Fortunately, Mr.Q just got a nice little raise, and we've squirrelled a little bit away, so we've got some breathing room. (No need to panic, Mom!)

I'm a litte adrenaline-y, of course...also, very unsurprised. Every frustration I've had about That Job has just been confirmed. (Or re-confirmed) And the heavy-handedness with which "dissent" is being squashed is really just ensuring that the squashers are giving themselves the rope with which they'll strangle themselves. Good plan, that: go into the busiest season in the industry with an uhappy staff who don't trust the security of their jobs, or you personally. Have fun with that!

As for me, I feel wonderfully relieved. Now I don't have to make the decision about when to leave (and it was inevitable!). I am free, free like a bird! (A bird, yes. A soaring bird who will poop on the unsuspecting crocodile-heads below...whee!)

Gotta run. Busy, unemployed me is off to Jel's for some celebratory Kahlua & coffee. That Indian dinner Mr.Q & I were planning on tonight has just been upgraded from "payday treat" to "Independence Day party"...

Guess the goats will just have to learn to blow themselves!

Luck o' the Irish

Since it's Beltane and all, and since I can claim some Irish heritage, I thought it would be good to have a traditional Celtic dinner, in celebration. Something easy, as I have about as much energy as a drunk Leprechaun who has hit his head on the Blarney Stone. So we went with this old Irish stand-by:

Veggie burgers, with cheese. Doesn't get much more trad than that!

Deja-vu.

He did it TWO. MORE. TIMES.

Our response time improved dramatically with each incident - second time (4:20 AM), Mr.Q chased him out before he let the mouse go; third time (5:30 AM), we cornered him in the kitchen before he got near the bedroom. I'm pretty sure they were different mice each time.

Then he had the cajones to try & cuddle with me when the alarm went off. As if.

He is not my favourite feline right now!