I know full well I won’t get very far in these boats. They are easy to make, though, and would do equally well in a beach house, summer cottage or on a boat. All triangles, all the same size, all sides the same length. Rather neat even if I say so myself.
And the best part is they are absolutely still and don’t rock, roll, and heave. I get seasick sometimes. Never with these!
The day began with fetching the morning paper as usual. Less than usual I did not have to unlock the door today because I was unable to do so yesterday evening.
So this morning I tried oil. The weather here in Denmark is a drought currently but in winter I did see dew on the inside of the lock and thought it may be rust.
Oil and time, even more oil and more time did not help. So I tried rust remover. To no avail. Gave in and found a locksmith. Thankfully this trade shares a feature with ER and midwives: A lot of their work is unplanned calls to people who need their help NOW.
The half hour or so was fine, I was not in labour and did not desperately need to leave the house together with my grown daughter. Told him (a rather handsome, youngish man!) what the problem was and what I did.
He then knew exactly what was wrong: The door had a fault from the factory that had allowed too little extra room for the protruding bit of metal to fit into the frame of the door. Apparently all doors sink a little over time. My door had sunk too low by a fraction to give enough room.
Hence the drill: He simply drilled away a bit of the metal. And now it works again!
And the stock bit? I just stocked a couple of items for sale onto my site.
I write. Not just this blog (and another one in Danish) but also fiction. Sometimes I write non-fiction too when I describe some of the patterns et c. I make for various craft projects.
And when you write you get – at least some people get – the notion that someone might want to publish your writing. So you send off a manuscript to veraous publishers, big and small.
And then you wait. Watch your mail box for at least an auto-reply that tells you that your heart and soul reached their destination. And you wait some more.
From time to time you loose patience, often as not only to wish you didn’t because the long-awaited answer is a refusal.
And then just once in a while you get a chance. This just happened to me even if it was in disguise: I wrote up descriptions with lots of snaps of a select number of patchwork patterns and looked for publishers specialising in the field. Then I wrote to those publishers. Finally I posted in a patchwork group on Facebook if others had good suggestion of “never fail always good books” from a specific publisher.
That was when chance entered the equation. A group member with a shop wrote to me because she could well want to sell my patterns in her shop.
The lesson I learned from this? Just the usual: Timing is what makes chances occur.
Do you know the feeling? You found all your patchwork material, spread it over half the living room and cut piece after piece for a specific project.
Then the minute you sigh and begin to re-fold everything to put it away you think of other patterns. Leave the mess, take up pencil and paper – in my case a standard checkered pad – and begin to draw. Come up with brilliant ideas. Or remember old and equally brilliant ideas not yet put into colours and cloth.
Lean back with sketches on the pad, smile to yourself and fetch the thick paper used for clich´s and begin to cut those. And then finally go on to cut the material for those patterns.
That’s what I did this past week. Well, not all of it, some of it. And now that I finally put all the material away to stop myself getting further ideas I have not only the 468 pieces for my Mum’s bedspread but also 2X5 for two canters, 15 pieces for one experimental pattern, 11 pieces for another experiment and finally 177 pieces for a square pattern. Because I stopped myself before I began to cut a hexagon cliche’e which would have meant countless other pieces.
Oh and did I mention I always hand-sew? Seems I have my work cut out for me very literally.
There’s a good deal of debate going on currently about youngsters sharing nude snaps of (mainly) girls without any form of consent from the victims. One thread in the debate is that parents have a part of the blame for two reasons:
The obvious one is upbringing. As parents we teach or at least try to teach our children about decent behaviour though the individual concepts of that phenomenon has variations.
The other reason is the fact that we parents sharesnaps of our children. Including cute nude snaps of happy toddlers in paddling pools et c.
So I decided to not photograph my daughter’s head to display the swater I finished for her and which so obviously fits her snugly. She is very good at only sharing pictures of herself where she may look a bit silly, but never drunk or nude. Doubt she ever sent anything like it in private to anyone; she’s not the type to do so.
In fact she’s a nerd. Which is why the sweater has the design it has: She studies geology and wanted it to display layers of dirt disrupted by e.g. earthquake. And the head? Just a container for her brain.
Now before any possible reader’s hackles are raised, this is neither naming, blaming or shaming. Instead I’m straightly, strictly literal:
The dear girl studies geology and saw on one field trip a fellow student wearing a sweater that inspired her. Could I knit a pattern with stripes that are interrupted in a slanted line?
My answer yes prompted a sketch that’s turning into the above: A clourful rendition of a fault line. The blue, yellow and red layers of sediment, as it were, on the black background cut up and unjoined with the forces of the earth’s tectonic plates.
Or in this case, the force of my knitting needles. Don’t you just love a nerd like that?! I do.
Knitting can get boring. The thinner the needles and the yarn the longer time it takes to get anything done.
Patterns can break the monotony, and stripes are an easy pattern. The snag of stripes is the fact that unless the stripes are only few rows each and therefore thin it’s best to break the yarn at each stripe. Which leaves you with this:
Yup, that’s the stripe-tease of the title. AKA woolly spaghetti.
I may be done working my knitting needles on this thing. Doesn’t mean there’s no needle work left on it. Until the end is nigh.