Trenchwork

You know how it’s never a good thing to say “never” because the moment you do, you end up doing that thing you just swore you’d never do?  Well, that rule’s cosmic little brother is the one which says that when you whine about something, you inevitably end up with more of that thing.

Not so long ago, I was bemoaning the need for things to laugh about.  Foolish, foolish me.

It’s been cold lately, and the little car (DH thought it was a super deal and couldn’t pass it by) I’ve been driving the last couple of months is . . . well, quirky.  It has a funky gear box that likes to make you go to first before you go to reverse. The interior light doesn’t come on when the door on the driver’s side opens, but it does for the passenger’s side.  When it gets cold, the passenger side door doesn’t like to stay shut unless you lock it.   DH has a tooth infection and went to the dentist.  Since the affected tooth was part of an earlier root canal and had been capped, they really want to save the tooth, so he’s being referred to a specialist.  Knowing he wouldn’t be able to chew good stuff, I stopped at the store to pick up something for soup.  Locked the car door with the key (there’s only one for both lock and ignition)—and then can’t get the key out.  And can’t open the door. Because something inside the lock is frozen into position. And since the cold is affecting the other door as well and the silly bugger won’t close properly unless you lock it is, well, locked, you’re locked out.  And of course your cell phone—you know, the one you’d use to call DH and beg him to bring you the spare key—is in the computer bag in the car because after all, you just thought you were going in for a minute.  And so you go into the shop, leaving the doggoned key hanging from the car door lock and would considering praying some kid will come along and steal the sucker if it weren’t for the fact that your laptop, schedule, credit cards, and cell phone is in that beast. But thankfully, a kind grocery fellow lends you his cell phone so you can call DH—who just sounds totally blank when you explain what’s happened.

Feeling bad though he is, he brings the spare key (which incidentally means you can get home), so you use it to open the other side, crawl with absolutely no dignity at all across two bucket seats and a stick shift, open the driver’s side door and just manage to not fall out the other side. The door opens, but the key still doesn’t come out. And so you use the spare to start the car and drive home, listening to the rhythmic beat of the key chain jangling merrily against the door just to remind you that it’s still there.

When you get home, you search the house for an extension cord and find that bless his heart, DH did something another relative might do and left the sucker plugged in on the back porch—which, incidentally, is now frozen under a couple feet of snow and your chances of getting it out before a thaw are nil to none. Abashedly, he finds you another cord, and you stretch it out the window to the car, hoping you don’t electrocute yourself along the way as the connection drags through the snow, and plug in a hair dryer to see if blowing some warm air into the lock might help . . . and of course it doesn’t. So you turn the car on and let it idle with the heat going full blast for about 20 minutes to see if that will loosen things up . . . and of course it doesn’t.

And at that point you decide the icicles and snow are just NOT your friend, turn off the car, close the door, close the passenger door, lock the passenger door since it doesn’t want to stay shut in the cold, give it all up as a bad job and leave it sit there to sulk all it wants to, with a forlorn hope the nasty little brute will wake up in a better temper tomorrow, but secretly knowing you’ll have to take it to someone else to get the key out of the lock.  And in those last several moments, you’re having to dodge Stalker Cat for fear that the beast will get in the house or decide to nail your foot for passing too closely.

The car has now sat in the garage with the key still in the lock for nearly a week; DH doesn’t believe in admitting defeat.

I’m one of those people who believe God has a wicked sense of humor.

On a spinning front, there was this . . .

Beaded Moonflower.  The color in the top shot is pretty correct.

Fiber: BFL from Spunky Eclectic in the “Moonflower” colorway.
Weight: 8 ounces, before beads.
Beads:  Yellow-core roccaille seed beads.
WPI / TPI: 10 / 8.
Yardage: 548 yards.

Amy’s fibers are always a delight to spin, and I’ve held onto this one since I decided to bead it, and couldn’t for the life of me find beads which matched the blues.  I finally decided to try a contrast; hence the yellow.  It’s not bad, but I screwed up a bit in one or two sections and there are a couple of long stretches without beads.  It’s another of those spin-when-you’re-too-tired-to-pay-attention mistakes, but it’ll work out ok.  In a knitted fabric, the beads will simply end up being very randomly placed.

And this . . .

Is one of Abby Franquemont’s batts in “Sunshine Soul.”  It’s some of the worst spinning I’ve done in a while, and that has absolutely nothing to do with Abby’s fiber.  THAT is purely wonderful, and I can cheerfully recommend it to anyone.  The problem was largely because it went through three different wheels over a long period of time, and with a complete lack of focus.  It’s a very low twist, thick-thin yarn which, despite simply awful spinning, is still a lovely, squishy yarn which would work up nicely into some sturdy mittens or hat(s).

I hate to give the stats here, but I sort of have to in the spirit of confession.
Fiber: “Sunshine Soul” from Franquemont Fibers.  35% superwash, 25% Romney, 30% Tussah.
Weight: 8 ounces.
WPI / TPI: VERY thick-thin, with very low twist.
Yardage: 363 yards.

And a bit of dyeing.  Remember the fake angora from here? It’s been hanging around for a bit while I decided what to do with it, but the icecicles from the previous week gave me some inspiration, and it seemed to me that a “cool” fiber needed a cool color, so it was dyed in a very pale ice blue.  The nylon absorbed the color fairly quickly and wanted more, so left the depths of the yarn in darker hues and the “higher” points a bit lighter—just like ice.  The yarn is heavy, cool, slightly silky, and very very soft.

And there were packages yesterday!  A bit of the remnants of the fiber which didn’t fit into the suitcase in August showed up, so the rest of Bruno is now safely tucked into the loft.

Then there was a care box from mom with goodies for Christmas baking.  Little essentials like unsweetened chocolate, Baker’s German Chocolate, and Baker’s flaked coconut.  And light brown sugar!  All things you cannot get here, and for which there’s no real Norwegian equivalent.  And doggone it, I only have two favorite cakes—New York-style cheesecake, and real German Chocolate—and I’ve gotta be able to make ONE of those this holiday season!

And last but far from least, there was a surprise package from my SP13 Secret Pal.

There’s cinnamon tea which has a wonderfully strong and enticing smell, a lovely postcard, some knitting music CD (which is just too cool!), and JELLY BELLY JELLY BEANS!  No, seriously, Jelly Bellies!  I have a sweet tooth, but there are only a few candies I truly fall for.  Homemade pralines, M&Ms, French-burnt peanuts, and Jelly Bellies.  What I want to know is how in the world she got hold of them since she’s on my side of the pond.  And, it’s just as well I don’t know.

DH might get one.