True Confessions

So the Old Folks came up for the day last Saturday and I suggested that we go to the vegetarian restaurant for lunch because--Yum--and besides, it was near the yarn store.



"Yarn Store? Hmmmm" sez the old woman, and that was all Bunny needed to hear, so we all went to the yarn store. The old woman poked around the stuff and had a grand and glorious time but





are you sitting down?

She didn't buy anything!

I almost couldn't believe it. What a weirdo! No Bunny, it's just different, not wrong. Bunny is the kind of yarn lover who buys yarn just because it's nice and then later has to figure out what to do with it. The old woman is the kind of knitter who decides what to knit first and then buys the yarn. Isn't that odd?



So Bunny has this in the stash:

Yup. Mohair. Bunny knows from experience that there is not enough mohair there to make the hat she has in mind. In order to be frugal and use yarn she already has, she was forced by the terms of the Economy Plan to buy more yarn. And so that led to this:

Listen. I don't know what you want me to say. It's not like I forsaw this sort of consequence when I went on the Economy Plan and, well, rules is rules, cuz Bunny's no rebel.

OK. I lied. In addition to the purchases documented above, I also bought a skein of sock yarn. As punishment, I hereby sentence myself to show you my sock yarn stash:

Because I don't want to mislead anyone, here it is from another angle so you can really see:

There are four skeins of Opal Tiger and two skeins of Opal Peacock (I think it's peacock) in the giant Ziploc bag over there. I think I counted 55 total. I will not discount the possibility that there are up to 10 more skeins stowed away in other places in the house that I haven't accounted for. Probably only 2 or 3, but I'm being brutally honest, so maybe, maybe, it could be as many as 10. I am not ashamed.

Here are the completed Mulberry knee socks:

And here is the Bud Collins sweater:

So sometimes I use up yarn.

And here is the bent needle I lost. I found it, clearly.

It's no good for socks now, but I can still use it to make cables.

Non compis mentus

And don't hassle me if I can't spell in Latin.

I would dearly love to show you a completed Bud Collins sweater, but I can't. Last night, while watching the gold medal women's volleyball match, I tried to pick up stitches for the neckline and I fell victim to one of the oldest moron-traps in the book:

Which hand is my left hand, and which hand is my right hand?

That slowed down things a lot and I tried to make it work, but I couldn't, and in the end I had to rip out two hours of work and start over. I've been working on it all day, but I find that I am now KWH, so The Man has interrupted his very important day of doing stuff like this:

to feed me. So this is what I've got so far:

Soon. Very soon. But not right now.

Moving on

I have abandoned Fred and Fred Prime. I could not get gauge, they were too small, their pieces parts were too fiddly, the pattern was strange, and, just, bleck. So there.

Aunt Dirtbunny is re-educated

I am absolutely certain that there was a time when, according to Nephew Henry, Aunt Dirtbunny was stupid and knitting was stupid. I am informed that times have changed:


Nephew Henry is a knitter. I have heard no retractions of the "Aunt Dirtbunny is stupid" part, so I suppose that still stands. That's OK. My feelings aren't hurt. Given that he is part of the same family as me, harsh judgments about the stupidity of others are to be expected.

And here is Bud Collins:



It's too small for me, or else I might keep it for myself.

Is it done yet?

Yes it is. It's done in the sun:


And it's done in the shade:

Good job Dirtbunny.

Is it done yet?

Not yet.

Froggy!

Here's the thing about Froggy. I love her. She's beautiful and all. But I felted her just a little. It's not that bad. Really. The thing is, though, I was aiming higher than "not that bad." I give myself a B. Um, I learned a lot, and I suppose that's good. I've always been good at patterns and now I'm getting good at tidy increases and decreases, and I'm making real progress at seaming. I'm still working on blocking, but this time around I learned a really important how-not-to. If you have recently suggested that I teach you about blocking and would now like to change your mind without hurting my feelings, we can just pretend you never asked.

See? Not that bad. It even looks a bit chenille-ish, which isn't such an awful thing. I even confined my post-fuck-up tantrum to a few sniffles and an hour so of feeling a little sad, and then I moved on without any extra calm-making medication. That is also progress.

Here's a first (not really, but a first for Dirtbunny):

The classic knitblogger photo-of-self-in-bathroom-mirror shot featuring yours truly and a surprise guest.

I wasn't going to include this next one because of the glare from the flash, but I think it gives you an important insight into exactly what my life is like around here:

Dirtbunny, when at home, is never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER alone.

And what about the Elephant Blanket. Is it done yet?

Not yet.

Is it done yet?

Not yet.

(Neither is Froggy)

Hey! Guess What?

Wool felts.

Something you don't see every day

I finished the tiger socks yesterday. I put them out in the sun to take their picture, and Kirby decided to have a look, so I didn't get a very good picture.




Then he had a seat, and, if you look closely, a good chew.






Busted!





The socks are safe now.

In other yarn news, Froggy is soaking in anticipation of a good blocking. Here she is getting the Barbara Walters treatment:

She doesn't need it, though. She looks good even with an ordinary focus.

See all the ends I wove in and snipped? I'm pretty tired of yarn now, but when Froggy is done with her soak, I will have to mess with yarn again. There will be more photos later.