A Job Almost Well Done

There is nothing like weaving in the ends of a finished project that makes me feel warm and fuzzy all over. I'm closing in on doing just that with my pink sweater. I'm 2/3 of the way through with those pesky sleeves. I'd have been done by now if this yarn were anything except boucle. What a major pain in the arse. I find myself having to watch every single stitch because to drop one stitch would be a tragedy of monumental proportions. This yarn is so highly textured that I think it would be nearly impossible to pick up and weave a dropped stitch correctly. Looking at that picture below, would you recognize that as stockinette stitch? I need to shut up now or I'm sure to drop one just for having the cheek to discuss it while there are still live stitches on the needles. Murphy's Law and all that.

To make matters worse (and put the kabosh on my knitting), I have a rather long burn on my left index finger. You know, the one that tensions the yarn. Ouch. That'll teach me to try to make my curly hair straight using a flat iron. There I was, whipping through my curly locks with abandon and half-heartedly paying attention. I saw my finger going in the iron just a split nanosecond before the iron closed on it. I think I said ouch before it started to hurt. I also burned myself searing the pot roast on Sunday. The pot was smoking hot when I laid the roast inside and hot oil splattered. The roast was good, the burn not so much. Sadly, the hot oil splattered on the tender side of my forearm. Hopefully, with burns out of the way for the week, it should be safe to cook on Thursday. It just wouldn't be a holiday meal if I didn't burn myself in some manner. Maybe I should use pot holders that come up to my elbows-just in case. Or, I could use a grease screen. Duh.

In the meantime, I've just completed these socks that I started before I left for Virginia. The Newark layover knocked a big chunk out of these socks. These are done in my new favorite sock yarn, Mountain Colors Bearfoot (sorry Lorna's Laces). I can't tell you the name of the color until the recipient has opened her package. That should be sometime later this week. I hope she likes them. How could she not? I knit these socks in various places and have knit peaceful thoughts into each stitch-being in the mountains helps with that. I used 1 skein of Bearfoot, US Size 2 dpns, 60 stitch cast on and my Plain Jane sock pattern. There is nothing fancy except this fabulous wool. Next up will be a pair for my own feet out of this same color. My daughter picked out wool for socks for her own feet and I was secretly thrilled when she picked the Lorna's Laces and Jitterbug. That leaves all the Bearfoot for me. I may make hers as a stocking stuffer (fitting). I can't believe I've never knit a pair of socks for her. Don't go feeling badly of me or too sorry for her-remember she is the owner of the beaded cashmere hat and plenty of other hand knit items, but never socks. She's modeled plenty for me because her foot is a more appropriately sized ladies foot. I've just never made a pair just for her. Soon habibi, I promise.

Seasoning

Every time I go to my sister's home in Virginia, I'm amazed by the views. In every season, this place looks so different. In spring and summer, you can't see the mountain range in the distance but come fall, once the leaves have fallen to the ground, this place takes on a different feel. In the top picture, the view was amazing. Too bad my camera couldn't capture what my eyes could clearly see. There in the distance is the Blue Ridge Mountains. When I hiked high enough up the mountain, I could see down into the Shenandoah Valley.

Saturday night, Mareseatoats and I showed our age and decided not to go out. We'd been out shopping (yarn) during the day and had stopped for a bite of lunch. On our way back home, we made the executive decision to be lazy and stopped at a market to stock up on local cheese, wine, crackers, bread and fruit. That would be our dinner. We turned in early after we watched the movie Juno.

Well rested, we got up early Sunday for a hike up Taylor's Mountain before we had to leave for the airport. The views were stunning. We got slightly led astray when we lost the forest path (should have followed the dog) and had a bit of a time finding her house. We got chased by two persistent and very pissed off Australian Shepherds before they hit their electronic fence and we found the road. We couldn't find the path because of all of the leaves. Still, Cayda Bella knew the way since she spends all her days terrorizing chasing the deer here and really, don't you think we'd have been smart enough to follow? Nah. I will say though when she knew those shepherds were after us, she raced to our rescue in an effort to save us from ourselves.

Tonight, my back, behind, thighs and calves are barking at me and me feet are tired. That mountain was pretty steep and I stopped just short of making it to the top. My back wasn't cooperating. Still the views from where we did make it, were stunning. My trip was short but oddly rejuvenating.

Sadly, my feet, shown here in hand knit socks and my Keens, are safely on the ground in Detroit. I miss Virginia already.

All photos by Rudee K, the one with the cows, courtesy of Mareseatoats.

Home again

I'm back from my stealth trip to Virginia.  As usual, it was beautiful.  I don't know what it is about this state that calls me.  Or why I feel so at home the minute I hit the state line.  It isn't really all of Virginia though, to be fair, I haven't been to all of Virginia.  Yet.  I love the mountainous regions and the coastal areas of this state the most.  My paternal grandmother was from Pedlar Mills, Virginia, in the Shenandoah valley.  Perhaps what I feel when I'm here is a genetic recognition of home.  

My grandmother met my immigrant grandfather, who was a very ethnic looking Arab, in a boarding house in Richmond where she worked.  I can't help but think that in some way, this was very scandalous behavior for the times.  I'll never really know though as that history is gone from us.  She married him and moved north.  I wish they'd stayed.

As usual, it rained.  For once, I'd like a three day stretch there with no precipitation.  This photo was of a storm that blew over the mountains in an instant.  One moment, it was overcast and misty looking over the mountains, the next it looked like this on the road to my sister and brother in law's house.  We pulled over so my sister could take this picture.  Even the storms are pretty and so very impressive when the lightning starts.

My sister Mareseatoats and her husband of 25 years at their surprise party.  Both are geologists who live in other parts of the world but call Virginia home.

This is the stealth blanket finally finished and delivered.  I can't believe I didn't take a picture of it at the delivery point.  Perhaps Mares will send me one.  It is so soft and if I weren't so project fatigued, I'd knit one for me.  The trim yarn is a camel silk blend to represent the last few years spent in the Middle East.

Although I love going to Virginia, I'm getting tired of the drive, especially when I go solo.  I've done it four times in the past year now and I don't think I'll do again for quite awhile.  Those turnpikes in Pennsylvania and Ohio are almost unbearable.  To go other routes takes forever, so I don't go those ways.  There aren't any efficient ways to get there as the crow flies, the damned lakes and mountains are in the way.  I think the entire state of Ohio, at least along the turnpike has just fertilized the land with manure. The entire route was aromatic and not in a good way.  Not that Detroit smells any better, but at least it's good old fashioned pollution and not cow dung that I smell.

I'm road weary and have to catch up on all the Tour de France news.  I love DVR.  Tomorrow, I'd like to discuss my inability to pack light.  

I speak in code

Last year, I bought myself a shirt that says:

K2TOG

Do You Know The Code?

I wore this shirt around the house and wouldn't tell anyone what it meant. It drove my husband somewhat nuts (a short drive). My son couldn't take it and googled the meaning. He didn't tell my husband what it meant. Whenever I wore it out, someone would come up to me and say, "yeah, I know the code," or smile in secret recognition. Inevitably, it was a woman who knew the code. Last spring, I flew to Virginia to see my sister's new home. We went hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains and I wore my shirt. On our way back up the trail, a man asked me if I'd hiked K2. I'm still laughing. I don't think I told him what the code meant.

Nursing was my calling in life. Or was it? It was pretty common for young girls growing up to want to be a nurse. I wanted it. I didn't go after it until my mid 20s. I am now a seasoned warrior on the nursing front. And I speak in code.

My life at work is made up of acronyms and short cuts like symbols and atomic names that I have use for decades. It seems I can't use too many of them anymore. The Joint Commission doesn't like it. Now I must spell the whole thing out. Morphine instead of MS. Magnesium Sulfate instead MgSO4. I have to change though in an effort to meet standards set by a bureaucrat. I hear what I've done for 25 years isn't safe. So instead of getting me more help to make me safe, they've gone and made it a bit tougher. And I'm having a bit of a time deciding if it's made my patients safer.

I wasn't very likely to mix up morphine and magnesium in the past. Just the dosage alone would keep me from going out on that limb. To give you 4mg of MS (morphine sulfate) is a likely dose. 4mg of MgSO4? Spitting upwind. I'd probably give you many grams-not milligrams of magnesium to fix your shortage. And I wouldn't be likely to push it either, I would hang it in a drip form. Say you are the doc and write 4gm MgSO4 IVP and I think you mean morphine. Do you think I might be cursing you because now I have to pull up 1000 syringes of morphine to make the dose you want, or do you think I'd question either the order or my interpretation of the order? Also, I have a fairly good understanding of just about how much morphine would kill a human. I've never in my career "pushed" more than 10 milligrams. If you're wondering what I'd do, I'd question myself.