Socks on a Snowy Day

Snow is my favourite kind of precipitation and even I looked out the window this morning and thought, “Hey now, that’s enough.”

Luckily I have a pair of finished socks to take the edge off.


In a move which makes me feel like a crazy person, I added some slipped stitches to the plain part of the heel because a stockinette stitch heel just looked kind of unnatural. This required a few short rows to keep my heel flaps square. You are probably less attached to the slip stitch heel than I am. I also stopped the cable and knit my standard toe, which was less a matter of principle and more a matter of laziness.

Specs: a.m. socks in Sanguine Gryphon Eidos I’ve had forever. Colour is called The Death of the Object and, remarkably, looks prettier knit up.

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Win Some Lose Some

I’ve been under the weather the last couple of days, which has some obvious downsides. (Like, I wanted to spend my money on beer and world travel, not more Kleenex.)

But, on the bright side, since leaving the house is too daunting a prospect, I’ve had lots of time to knit.


Socks in progress. Also,


A sweater of my own reckoning. Pink! Lace! If that’s not a change of pace, I don’t know what is.

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Bonus Hat

I finished that yoked cardigan the other day, except for buttons which, given my track record could take a while. But I had a fair bit of yarn left over, too much to just stick in the scrap drawer. So, new hat:


My face is creepily absent from all the pictures I took. This can only help my career as a spy, right?

This pattern has some stupid long floats in the last few rows of the colour pattern but I think it’s worth it. I love how pleasingly Art Deco it looks.


I may be scheming to add this pattern as edging to the entire world.

Specs: Diamond Waves Hat, knit in Handmaiden Ottawa. No mods for once.

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Generation A

Every now and then I pick up one of Douglas Coupland’s books because they seem like the sort of thing I should like, and then I remember how I’m just not in love with him. (I mean as an author. He could be a perfectly lovely person.)

My latest attempt at Douglas Coupland appreciation is Generation A. It begins when five people are stung by bees, which is noteworthy because bees have been extinct for the past few years. (There is nostalgic and enthusiastic talk about apples guaranteed to make you start craving a good apple. This could be the book for you if you’re trying to eat more fruit.) So they are famous on the internet, whisked away by scientists for study and curious to meet each other. It’s sort of like a disaster movie premise where disparate people end up stuck together talking about life, the universe and everything. With lots of drugs.

Overall, my feeling is kind of … meh. I guess I wanted this to go another direction. I wanted more about the bees because Lazarus species are cool, and Douglas Coupland wanted to talk more about storytelling in the digital age. And drugs. Which is fine and all, but I feel like the world is not hurting for musings along those lines.

And, I don’t want to insult bees’ intelligence and resourcefulness, but I find it hard to believe they apparently faked extinction, hid out for a few years, then went out and deliberately stung specific people at specific moments. I mean, how? Why?

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The ABC Murders

My mom is a big reader of mystery novels, so much so that even though I’m up for some mysterious happenings in my books I rarely read them because it seems more like a mom thing. (Also because it seems one so often runs into the trope of the dedicated policeman with disastrous personal life, which doesn’t really work for me. I mean I hope you catch the killer, but it’s hard for me to have much sympathy when I think your wife was right to leave you.)

Anyway, looking around for a reliable bus read, I picked up The ABC Murders by Agatha Christie. A serial killer is working his (or her) way through the alphabet, killing Alice Ascher in Andover, Betty Barnard in Bexhill, Carmichael Clarke in Churston and sending letters to Poirot about it. The most interesting thing about it for me is how all the characters are apparently used to investigating those cozy country house murders where there are obvious motives and obvious suspects. They are so perplexed and run around going “Madman! Random killings! What to do?” Unlike, say, me, who has watched enough cop shows that I think “Oh, another serial killer, here we go again.”

I shouldn’t talk about the end, I guess, but it was actually surprising. Excellent.

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Knit, Knit, Knit

I finished that anxiety sweater a while ago and still found myself in need of comfort knitting. You know what’s easier than making scary phone calls? Knitting stripes of garter and stockinette.


BANG! New scarf flew off the needles. Simple, simple, simple. Also, less blurry in real life. Whoops.

Specs: Eiku in Sunshine Yarns Wool/Silk Sock Yarn. Added an extra repeat of the mesh pattern because I had plenty of yarn. (And I still didn’t want to make those phone calls.)

And then! I knit all the plain parts of yet another yoked cardigan. (This one. Mostly.)


Here we have an example of why I don’t post a lot of progress shots – this grey lump is going to be a sweater. I swear!

Y’all, I better get my life in order or I am going to give myself some sort of repetitive strain injury.


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I picked up Karen Russell’s Swamplandia! from the library because it has an alligator on the cover (I’m discerning like that.)

I finished it a couple of days ago and I still can’t quite make up my mind about it. I have a weak spot for books where Place is important and there is some lovely stuff here about the Florida swamps. The premise is gold – it’s about a family who runs an alligator theme park featuring alligator wrestling shows and a museum showcasing their heavily edited family history. Then the mother dies, a Hell-themed amusement park opens, their business falls to pieces, the brother runs away from home and the older sister starts going on dates with ghosts.  Fun time, y’all!

It’s not like I’m endorsing all books should be full of rainbows and unicorns – I mean, I recently read a book about Nazi concentration camps – but I was disappointed by all the standard-issue stip mall horribleness that happens. This is the point, maybe, that even if you are an Awesome Alligator Wrestler who lives on an island with a pit full of alligators your problems will still be about money or cancer or family or rape. (The rapey part particularly seemed gross and unnecessary. Rape is always gross and unnecessary, but it felt to me less a part of the plot and more something added in to up the trauma quotient.)

But there are already SO MANY books full of Bleak and Woe and Modern Life. I would have liked more ghosts and more alligator wrestling.

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