The good karma just keeps coming

I did something about three months ago. I was going to mention it here but was quite afraid that if nothing came of it I would embarrass myself. But, now that it's official - Donni emailed me about it so it has to be true - I can safely tell all.

I got an article published in Creative Knitting. It is about knitting the Clapotis.

So, two things I made out of nothing that i am proud of this week!

So now can I officially call myself a successful columnist?

Check it out on Creative Knitting.

Mystery Shawl

The mystery was whether you would be able to see all the mistakes I made.

I am so proud of myself I could have given birth to this thing, not knitted it!

Mystery Vista:

Addendum to the lucky publican story

As if that wasn't funny enough. There is a guy in dad's group, let's call him JR (because that's what he calls himself). He's a Mexican guy who lived in Texas and migrated to Australia. He's not in the building trade, he's in IT, but he makes a mean homebrew. From what I understand by the bush telegraphic way this story has been related to me (there's no mobile phone coverage in country Australia), JR took about 15 kegs of homebrew on the truck. It's thirsty work that Barramundi fishing.

While they were staying in pub in town whose name eludes me again, the publican and his wife tapped JR's kegs and sold the homebrew to the locals. Apparently even the publican was drinking it, saying it was better than his commercial tapped beer.

I think all these services provided to this town by dad and his gang, including the switching of the beer kegs was somehow related to how the truck got fixed. Secret mens business I expect.

The tale of the luckiest publican in Queensland

Imagine for a moment you are a female manager of a pub in a bush town some 800 km from the nearest city, Toowoomba. Now Toowomba is hardly what we would call an urban oasis, there is a population of less than 200,000 in this town. However I digress. We're not talking about Toowomba, we're talking about somewhere 800 km away.

Imagine you are running your little watering hole somewhere between Roma and thea armpit of the earth. You are trying to do the place up a bit. You buy some tiles for the kitchen and the toilets, but there's no tiler in town. You try to get a tiler to come in from the nearest town, but did not have much luck so you gave up after a couple of months. The tiles lay in boxes stacked up on the floor.

You could do with a new driveway, but there's no concrete company who will lug a cement mixer truck out here to the middle of nowhere so you just put up with the red dirt and the dust and the dry and hope for the best.

Out the back there is potential for a camping area. There are powered sites. Or rather, they would be powered if only the cowboy electrician who did a runner in the middle of the night after taking a thousand dollar deposit had have installed the circuit properly. But it's all ready to go, if only we could get a tradesman to come and do the work.

Your little town consists of a pub, a bakery and a general store. Sometimes you wonder what the hell you're doing here really.

So there's this concreter who lives on the eastern seaboard of NSW. Every two years, he takes his mate Bobby the carpenter, Billy the Electrician, Dave the plumber and Paulie the tiler on the now infamous outback adventure. He takes a generator, a boat or two, several fridges, food supplies, fuel and camping equipment and they drive to the Northern Territory.

Their journey takes them to the most remote and beautiful places in the world. They fish for Barramundi, spot crocodiles, visit aboriginal communities where no english is spoken. They see for themselves the harsh and brash beauty that the wild of Australia really is.

But first they gotta get there. It's a bloody long drive. And unfortunately, the stupid truck blows up in the middle of this tiny godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere, about 800 km from Toowomba. Enquiries indicate that the part necessary to repair the truck must come from Toowomba and will take at least a week.

So what do they do? They walk into the nearest pub to see if they can stay there for a week while they wait for the spare part to arrive.

Imagine how you feel when out of the blue on day while you're polishing your beer glasses waiting for the four regulars to arrive, in walks a tiler, a plumber, an electrician and a concreter - all stranded for a week?

This is what happened to my dad the concreter. Last week he celebrated his 60th birthday on his 4th day in the town. The local bakery made him a cake and the town had a party for him. The publican got all her tiling finished, the sites got powered and water connected and she got a new driveway from 50 bags of cement mixed by hand by my dad and his mates. They got a free week's board and I hazard a guess at a gazillion free gallons of beer.

Henceforth, my dad's truck shall be knows as Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

I didn't quite catch the name of the town when I heard the story, but when I do I shall update this post.

Breaking my own rules

I'm not much of a rules person. In fact, I particularly hate being told what to do. I don't read instructions, and if I don't agree with doing something I just won't do it. I don't much believe in doctors - I think you tell them what's wrong with you and then they either confirm or reject your theory. I am a firm believer that it won't get better if you pick it. I reckon we as a society are obsessed with having medical conditions and the majority of the allergies and food intolerances we suffer from are a load of crap. I am fully aware that there are certain anaphalactic allergies which are deadly - and I am not talking about those. I'm talking the increasing number of other ones, you know the ones nobody had time for in the 70's and 80's?

I reckon too often we have a bad day and somehow relate that to something medical. We beleive that any sort of pain, even mild discomfort, means there is something wrong with us and therefore it must be treated by a physician or a painkiller. I beleive the pharmaceutical companies plan and devise conditions in order to sell their products. I think you can get all of your vitamins from your food, if we would just cut up and cook more vegetables from the ground, not from a plastic bag.

So, when I started this blog I vowed there were three things I would NEVER do.

Thing 1: I will not post boring pictures of me and my children doing everyday things. When I look at a picture of my children I go all gooey in the middle because they share my dna. Nobody else gives a toss.

Thing 2: I will not blog about my health. People who blog unnecessarily about their health are malingerers. I don't have any health problems worth blogging about.

Thing 3: I will not blog about my weight. If I really wanted to become thin I would eat less and exercise more. It ain't rocket science, and I have no-one to blame but myself for overdoing the cheese plate and underdoing the treadmill. There is nothing about my weight which is even mildly blogworthy.

But of course, because I don't like being told what to do I can't even tell myself what to do, so here goes breaking all three of my own rules.

Breaking Rule 1

Went to a birthday party on the weekend. Blair got the fairy dress out again. We all had a wonderful time, and I took some pictures for the blog.

Breaking Rule 2
I have a lump in my right breast about the size of an orange. (I have huge bazookas). I have had a mammogram and an ultrasound and both results said it was just a thickening of breast tissue, not even a cyst, just a lumpy bit of breast. It gets shooting pains in it and cannot be touched at all during the last week of my cycle. It is located toward the outer part of my breast and therefore makes my right breast look like it starts somewhere under my armpit and also makes the right one significantly bigger than the left one.

I have been told that it the only course of action I have available is to have a breast reduction but that it would be purely cosmetic and therefore not covered by medicare. My private health insurance has just cancelled all support for cosmetic procedures, and the quote I have says it will be in the vicinity of ten grand to have it done. Oh how I wish I had a spare ten thousand dollars. I am obsessed with finding ways to make ten thousand dollars. I think about this situation every day when I get dressed and hate what I see when I put my HUGE bra on.

Breaking Rule 3

Summer is in the air. Spring clothes are on the racks. Swimwear is appearing in the department stores. Fashion magazines are heralding the new collections of skirts, sleeveless tops, floaty blouses and strappy heels.

Thank god the caftan is in.



Knitting content: Nil. The mystery shawl is coming along but I haven't been working on anything else. I did bid on some cotton yarn on ebay though. Damn you ebay you temptress! I am going to make the silk corset in the silk I got recently from the wool peddler but I need to dye it first.


NOTE: If you suffer from one of the allergies I don't believe in, or if you have a condition that I think is bunkum, please be advised that I am not so much of a narrow minded halfwit not to be aware that it is possible that I could be wrong. And what does it matter what I think anyway? I ain't no doctor myself.

flying saucers and fairies in my garden

Raindrops on petals and whiskers on kittens.......

These are a few of my favourite things.

I have been online surfing the blogs now for about two hours. Originally I sat down to write a post and then do some tidying around the house. I have visited you all, made some comments, seen what you're all up to, wished you well and I feel very energised by you all. Problem is, I still hadn't posted anything.

So now I have blog guilt. Not to be confused by blog-depression - although I think I have a bit of that too. And knit envy. Like that corset tank - how beautiful is that thing? I posted the pic from the maker's blog because it is nicer than the one for the pattern.

I have been working on the mystery shawl. I like it, but freaking hell it is going to be 24 times 12 plus 9 stitches wide on the longest row. I won't start a pattern if it calls for more than 100 stitches in a cast-on, what was I thinking?

Plus the message boards are driving me mental. I have never seen such inane drivel in all my days. There are a couple of them who clearly need some St John's Wort.

At first I had signed up to receive these messages on the email. First day I got 90 messages, most of them saying "I have opened the file and was able to see it in word. I can't wait to start." Puleeze. I wanted to put a message on the board saying, "today I got out of bed and had breakfast. I then took a shower and went to the toilet. Just so you know." I unsubscribed to the emails.

Then I felt bad because you know, the point of a knitalong is to make friends and connect with people so me being unkind was sort of a but, well, unkind. But then someone asked about making socks - whether dpns or two circs was better, then someone wanted to know what breed of rabbit was on someone else's blog (why not comment on the bloody blog then?) and then someone talked about damage to a doves nest in their garden and whether it could have been the result of human intervention or animal antics and then about 50 people had their two cent's worth about that. Then some competitive people started 'racing' to finish the clues.

Then people started complaining about the pressure being put on the organiser to disclose the clues early. Maybe some pressure had been put on the organiser, I don't know. Then people started complaining about all the off-topic crap being posted to the message boards.

Then the organiser banned all OT postings except on Thursdays (struck me as stoopid but there you go). So this caused a situation. Shit, meet fan. Everyone goes berserk. More messages about OT postings than there were OT messages in the first place.

That's about where I gave up on the whole thing. No more mystery knitalongs me.

Still, the shawl's nice.

But right now I have the four year old climbing all over me because she wants to 'have some cuppa tea' with me. I better go.

Invitation to laugh at my expense

I was at a friends house the other night and I spoke of someone's

TUBAL LITIGATION

It was an innocent slip-up, but did not go unnoticed by hostess. Presumably not by hostesses husband who was lurking in the background either, after all, he is a doctor.

I am a smart-arsed idiot.

MESSAGE TO MY SECRET PAL OF GENEROSITY

Wanna know what I did with the colour your own? Not only did was it turned into a riot of fuschia and cyclamen pink but it then became a baby cardigan. The pattern was in the interweave knits summer edition under baby gifts. When I finished it I thought it looked a bit utalitarian for a baby so I added a crochet ruffle. Much better.



The kureyon (how amazing is this stuff?) is going to be fingerless gloves. I still have a hank of the alpaca cloud left (knitty branching out methinks).

And all those kind comments on the blog. You are truly up there on the 'good things going on in my life' list right now.

Thank you secret pal.

It's a mystery to me

I swatched

I did clue 1

You can guess what's next I'm sure.

I did a single row of Clue 2, completely wrong number of stitches now on needle. I pressed on, maybe it would fix itself? I did another row. Didn't fix itself. Did another row. Even worse.

tink. tink. tink. tink. tink. tink.

back one row. At last, I have the right number of stitches on the needle. Knit one row. Go me. Breathe a huge sigh of releif - go to bed (after all it's 1:00 am).

Just as I am putting it into the little basket it sleeps in - oh the horror, the horror. A little loop, about ten rows back. What is that? I wonder and examine more closely. Oh no. A dropped stitch.

I got a crochet hook and looped it back to where it is supposed to get slipped over the next stitch (I think). But since that is about three rows back I don't know what to do - except rip the whole thing out. The whole thing.

Oh why oh why didn't I put the lifeline in after clue 1 was finished?

I am inconsolable.

Message to mystery commenter

Mystery commenter who made comment about me accidentally felting a certain garment herein contained on this blog somewhere - who might you be and from whence came your knowledge. I have only told two people and you weren't one of them. Or do the walls have ears?

Also, check out the juicy comment from an ex-colleague on my 'tribe' post - I can't wait to investigate that one myself.

Are we going forwards at all?

There's these public service announcements on TV at the moment. They show normal looking guys saying things like "I only shoved her a few times, it's not like it's abuse or anything". (Cut to black screen with the words) IT IS.

"She came back to my hotel room, she knew what the score was. She said no but I kept going" (Cut to screen) THAT'S SEXUAL ASSAULT.

It appears to be aimed at young people.

Et Cetera. Firstly, I can't beleive this sort of advice is necessary in today's society. Secondly, if it is necessary (as someone has deemed - it's on TV after all) then that makes me extremely ashamed of society. These announcements are on late at night, and are vexing my knitting as well.

I would prefer this community service announcement:

If you're raising boys today you need to lift your game because they appear to have less respect for women today than they did in the previous generation.

Makes me wonder what Louis is going to turn out like. Hmm.

tag2

5 things I miss about my childhood

Gee this is tough, I think I blocked most of it out.

1. Long hot summer holidays at Bendalong Caravan park down the coast. Just google it. I went back there a few years back to try and rekindle the feeling, but a 35 yr old with two babies just ain't going to feel like a 7 yr old with an inflatable boat.

2. There was this dress in cream and pink - it's a bit hazy but I remember long sleeves, floral pattern and long knee high socks. I absolutely adored that dress.

3. My dad being plugged in to family life. He's still around but ........ oh forget it.

4. My pop being alive.

5. The bravest dachsund in the world - pepe.

tag1

id·i·o·syn·cra·sy, Pronunciation Keyn. pl. id· i·o·syn·cra·sies -A structural or behavioral characteristic peculiar to an individual or group.


Write down five of your own idiosyncracies.Then, if you wish, tag five people from your live gerbil or friends list to do the same.

ONLY FIVE?? I COULD WRITE A BOOK.

1. I can not eat more than one food from the fork at a time. Take for example the typical Aussie roast lamb dinner. I fully realise that a bit of roast lamb, a morsel of potato, a few peas and a smear of gravy may taste great when eaten from the same fork but I just cannot do it. It has to be in a certain order, peas first, then potato, then meat and finally the pumpkin which is my favourite bit.

2. I really don't like 'doubling back on myself' when I have a couple of errands to run in the car. I also don't like going home the same way I went to a destination. Nor do I like using the same route to the same destination two days in a row. I don't care if it takes a bit longer, I like to mix it up.

3. When in a restaurant and I finish my meal, the empty plate cannot stay in front of me for a NANOSECOND. I must push it in front of someone else, usually the person in front of me, but can be the side or in the middle of the table.

4. I am unable to spell the words recieve or friend without a spell checker. Even then, they still don't look right to me.

5. I grind my teeth when I knit in the round. Maybe that's just a habit.

I'm so glad that's over.

If I think of any more I promise to keep them to myself.