You Better Not Pout

But you will, if you're one of the crafty folk who read this blog. You won't be able to help it, but Mrs. Claus will help Santa understand.

Some background. As you can see at the bottom of the page, I own/moderate several Yahoo groups. Most are knitting or spinning, one is a list for Scottie owners or wanabees. We take other terriers too, as long as they know their place. ANYWAY...a Scottish (Orkney Isle) lady who was doing an instructional KAL (KnitALong) on the EZasPi list happened to mention that she was about to pick up a Scottie from a rescue group. I pounced on that and invited her to join AngelScot. Her name is Liz Lovick, and she is a master knitter who owns and operates Northern Lace.

Every year, our Scottie list does two programs. One is a secret pal-type program that we call Terrier Twins. Simple minimum requirements of four cards (ecards are fine) and a birthday gift, it's meant to be a friendship/support kinda dealy job. The other is a Secret Santa. This year, I've had Liz as my Terrier Twin (it's not reciprocal, she has someone else for hers) and she drew me for the Secret Santa.

Now, I'm no dummy. I'd have happily rigged this as my dear, chicken-fearing friend Tracey accused me of doing. But I didn't. It was pure serendipity-doodah. Liz sent my gift early, since we never know what international post will do. This time it did well. The Tyvek envelope got to me unharmed. Speaking of which, that is some of the most indestructible crap I've ever seen. Yes, you can cut it open, but tear it? Schwartzenegger in his heyday couldn't do it, I'm tellin' ya.

Being a polite lady, I asked on AngelScot when I might open the package. Before Liz could answer, Tracey egged me on to open it...guess eggs don't bother her, just chickens. But soon Liz came back to tell me to go ahead and open it, and her Scottie named Scottie (remember he's a rescue, she didn't do that to the puir boyo) said it would explode in ten minutes if I didn't open the package.

Well we couldn't be havin' that, now could we? Not after she went to all that trouble. So I opened the Tyvek and pulled out a longish white box and a tote bag. One note - when you send things out of this country, you must attach a customs form. The effect of this is basically government Scroogality, because you have to reveal the contents. So I knew from seeing it on the form that the package had a spindle in it, and some 'bits of wool'. I was excited; I love spindles, and if they are both beautiful and functional, they are absolutely for me. Not you. ME.

I opened the box, and a spindle like none I own came out. Beautifully square! For those of you who aren't spinsters (don't GO there), most spindles are round. There was a note from Liz saying the spindle was from the UK's premier spindle-maker, Michael Williams. You can see some of his beautiful wood turning work here. Not just the spindle was inside, but some utterly gorgeous wool (Jamieson & Smith Shetland top)and silk hankies for spinning, dyed in colors I love. My jaw dropped. I've been spinning the wool on it the past two evenings, getting a very fine singles that you can see here.

But generous Liz wasn't done. I turned to the tote. Scotties cavort on the outside - it's from the rescue group she supports, and I love it. But inside! -oh my!! There was a pattern for a Fair Isle hat designed by Liz, and bunches of partial balls of Jamieson & Smith 2 ply Jumper Weight to make the hat. Any knitter worth their purls knows that this is primo stuff. The Ganga of Wool. I was thrilled to bits. As Liz said, she felt I wouldn't mind having partial balls to do the project. Uh, kinda not.

After doing my happy dance...no, don't bother checking YouTube...I settled down to look at the pattern and saw this:

She had modified the pattern JUST FOR ME! I was flabbergasted. All these little motifs to replace those in the original pattern, and all Scottie-related. Different head and body studies, and even wee bones...all in my favorite colors again. I couldn't be more touched. Unless George Clooney were within touching distance, in which case all bets are off. Even then, I'd be doing the touching. Pretty sure he'd be running.

Seriously, it is one of the most thoughtful gifts I have received in my life. Right up there with my prayer shawl from Kristina. Think about it. Not only my favorite colors, hobbies, and doggies, but the sheer work of doing those designs. Did I mention? Just. For. ME! As soon as I finish the Fiesta mittens I'm doing, this hops on my needles.

I don't even think you have to be a knitter or spinner to appreciate that kind of effort. It's a better woman than I am that made it, too. Not that that takes much, mind you, but Liz is a pip!

Celliquette

Last Saturday, we took pictures of a large family group, some of which have been clients for years. Nice folks, the ones we know, but I did have a bit of an issue. There were several small children in the group, and while most of the adults were in another room setting up a viewing appointment, only one adult male and a few older kids were watching the little ones.

Now, we keep a candy dish on the front desk. It usually has sugar-free mints in it, me being diabetic and also not wanting to contribute to any sugar rushes on the part of the kids we photograph. But for the holiday we added a few peppermint Kisses, and the tiny Tootsie Roll Pops. You're ahead of me here, I know. While the older kids were great at making sure little ones didn't play on the stairs, they did nothing to keep them out of the candy dish. They made more regular trips to it than a pig does his favorite wallow. The second youngest decided to make a fell swoop, and when she started cramming her fourth piece in her hand, smiling slyly at me like I was a co-conspirator, I said I thought she had plenty. Wiped that smile clean off her face. LOL At this point the previously full dish was half-empty, and when the littlest one came back (and the adults were back too, but paying no attention) with an unwrapped lollipop in her hand, and having had several pieces already, I said honey, I think you've had enough.

Big mistake. In trying to prevent a kid from ODing on candy, I provoked a meltdown. To the accusatory stare of her mother, I watched the kid collapse in tears and bury her face in mom's legs. I explained I was trying to be helpful, all the while biting back the desire to say if you watched your spawn, I wouldn't have to be the police. DH told me the kid had several meltdowns during the sitting too, so I think it's just her modus operandi.

I told you that to tell you this. :-)

Today, the same family has TWO viewing appointments to accomodate the large number wanting to see the pictures, and their various schedules. Unusual, but okay. Several folks show up at the appointed time and go in to view the pictures.

Where I sit at my desk, I can hear anyone coming up the front steps and onto the porch. I do hear someone come up, but then nothing. Odd, thinks I, and get back to the strenuous game of Spider Solitaire I'm playing whilst I await the order upon which I will next work. Quite a few minutes later, I hear the door open. SuzyG, receptionist extraordinaire, is at lunch, so I go out of the office to wait upon whomever.

And find a man yakking on his cell phone. I ask if I may help him, and he tells me he's one of the people who should be in the appointment...twenty minutes after it started! He then continues yapping on the phone. I tell him they are in this room, displaying the door with my best Vanna White hand gestures. He walks past it, down the hall. I correct him, cracking the door open and saying to those inside that another family member is here. He waves at me irritably, giving me the universal "Don't interrupt me" motion with his palm out facing me.

Oh, REALLY? Are you here in OUR business to do YOURS? One older gent peeks out at him, and he apparently then goes in the sales room. I say apparently because I left the hall rather than continue on to get the large knife in the kitchen to surgically remove the phone from his ear. Then I hear him come out, jabber a bit, and go outside again. Fine. Be outside and talk. Only it's cold, and he doesn't stay there, going in and out four times. Guess he thinks heat is free. Finally he starts wandering around reception (the office I'm in is right off that room) talking intensely into his phone. "What I want to know, Scott...what I want to know...why is she suddenly upset today? Why today?" Gee, I don't know...maybe you're rude beyond belief with her too? Then he has the nerve, gall and presumption to walk into the office, in spite of a partially closed door clearly saying 'PRIVATE.' I hate few things more than being made to feel like a zoo animal on display, and a give him my best "I beg your pardon?!?" look. I learned it from Dixie Carter on Designing Women.

He did at last finish up and take care of our business with him, after everyone else was done. Folks, I love cell phones. I'm a huge gadget geek, and I'm a firm believer in convenience, especially mine. But I'm sick unto death of people who think we all want to be part of their private little world. I do not want to see you driving with a phone up to your ear...it's my life you're endangering. I do not want to listen to your argument while I'm trying to enjoy a romantic dinner. I do not want to be interrupted in what we are doing because someone calls or texts you. And while I'm at it, I don't want to listen to your loud, occasionally obscene, ringtones either. As my mother used to say, if you can't play nicely with it, don't play at all.

And you're right, I don't feel so badly about making the little girl cry anymore, either.

Camo Gear

Yesterday was an exhausting day. Looking at the upcoming schedule, and knowing my receptionist had a bit of a lull, we decided to go ahead and decorate the inside of the studio for the holidays. The outside will wait till after Turkey Day, but in this economic climate, we need to remind customers that they can holiday shop with us. Our studio tree is all Scottie ornaments other than the angel (I don't like any of the Scottie ones out there), a few crystal snowflakes and garland, and one token Sheltie. Last year we moved from a four foot tree to a seven foot one, and it looks great. My digital cannot do the lights justice, but this gives you an idea. Note the Santa sitting in the corner, and the dogs going up the stairs.

BTW, and nothing to do with yesterday, I finally finished my socks. I could have made the cuffs higher, but I don't usually wear my socks very high, so I stopped. One of the numerous benefits of knitting socks toe-up. I just love the colors.

Back to yesterday. My grandson Cameron is about to turn 5, and his mom, aka my daughter, wanted to do some studio pictures with him in preference to buying the dreck the school photographer put out. That's her characterization; I didn't see them. Okay, she said something other than dreck, but I'm feeling polite today.

So in came Camo. A lean mean manipulative machine. That kid had the undiluted attention of four adults, and acted up accordingly. Oh, nothing really bad, just what you'd expect. My favorite was him darting, shirtless, out of the dressing room, but modestly holding his hands over his wee nipples - then running downstairs to do his semi-streak for the receptionist! Little stinker.

On the other hand, the camera utterly loves this child. Even when he'd do mock-frown, it was cute on a serious scale. I had two goals. He got his sweater that I made him early so I could get pics of him in it. I'm glad I added the little front pocket, and the hood looks cute on too. He has lovely blue eyes, and this really brings them out. I adore the feet in this shot too.

My second goal was for the next shot. And in spite of the fact that I had "glowed" off most my makeup in the decorating frenzy, I wanted a picture with him. Yes, this is the real me. No retouching other than the edge softening that you can see for photo effect. See what you think.

I'm going to send that one off for a couple prints, which is why it has our logo on it already. BTW, when having your portrait made with a grandchild, always have their arm wrapped around your neck. Hides a lot of stuff better hidden. ;-)

Run Ragged

I have a half-sister, Laura. She's younger than my daughters...in fact, she's younger than 3 of our father's grandchildren. Therefore, she's never felt like a sister to me since we didn't grow up together, but more like another niece. This past Thursday she got married, and the DH (and to a small extent, I) was the photographer. We had to travel four and a half hours to get to the place of the service and reception, a 4H camp at the other end of the state. Unfortunately, we couldn't go out there the night before because I had class. So after a long-ish drive, we got to the camp a bit early so DH could change into his suit. The nice folks at the dining hall where the reception was to be held let us in, and we got ready. We expected the bride no later than three.

The service was to be held in an open air amphitheater that was truly lovely. I took this shot shortly after we got there. The day was gorgeous, if a trifle nippy out. The sun was shining, the sky was a crystal-clear blue, and we sat and watched chipmunks run, and dozens of goldfinches play in that big evergreen you see. And we waited. Laura is chronically late. We were called and told there were wardrobe and hair issues, and basically the bride wouldn't be there until right before the service. This presented an issue for us only because we were losing light fast, and the temperature was dropping accordingly. We did get shots of the groom, Eric, and his groomsmen. He wasn't fazed by Laura's being late at all.

As we were waiting, a woman brought her camera up and asked one of the groomsmen to take her picture with Eric. I thought it was maybe an aunt, because she was wearing a skirt with a basic cardigan, and her hair pulled back in a gray, flat ponytail. I went ahead and snapped the shot too, and good thing. Turns out to have been his mother! He made some comment about Laura being late, and I laughed and said, "You didn't expect Laura to be on time, did you?" Mother answered very tersely, "Yes!" Rut-roh. So I waited a beat and replied, "Hope springs eternal." Eric busted up laughing, and so an uncomfortable moment passed.

The wedding began, and the girls looked lovely. Laura had chosen fall shades for her bridesmaids, and the gowns looked Victorian, all ruched up in the back in scallops. Just gorgeous. My nephew and little niece were ringbearer and one of the flower girls. The service was a nice traditional one, but everyone was getting very cold. After the receiving line the guests made gratefully for the dining hall as the wedding party had more photos done in the waning light. I just love the artistry of this one.

The reception was rather surprising in its simplicity. Knowing Laura and her mom I expected things to be a bit more on the lavish side, but it suited the venue. Dinner was served family-style. The DJ, IMHO, sucked. He not only started and finished with a commercial for himself, but then, as everyone is eating, suddenly blurts out that it's time for the toast, and thrusts the microphone in the best man's hand while the poor guy is still chewing! After the cake cutting, he announces that the staff is cutting the cake. I burst out in loud laughter (couldn't help it!) and corrected him...the two women doing the cutting were my other two sisters, both clearly not wearing the polo shirts and pants that the 4H staff were. The idiot hardly played any slow songs all evening, which I hate to see at a wedding. Yeah, you want to party, but you also want to dance close with the one you love.

I did get to do something I haven't done since my early teens...dance with my father. Unlike most men of MY generation, the man can dance. And I was so ridiculously proud of myself that I didn't miss a step with him. The rest of the night all my siblings and I did a lot of dancing together. I even got one or two in with the DH once he was off-duty. I was so sore the next day! And not just from the dancing.

No alcohol was served. Which makes what happened to me so ridiculous - I fell on the dance floor! My shoes were a bit big on me, and I blamed it on that, but the truth is, I tried to go a little too low and overbalanced. I landed most ungracefully, and on the arm that's been giving me fits anyway. Of course, I had to get up and keep dancing or have everyone worry about me, and put a damper on the fun. What a trooper I am, I say, modestly.

Afterward, we headed to our hotel to make sure we got the images off-loaded safely. Nice room in the Hampton Inn, but I wish I'd known they had a pool. That's such a restful way to wind down. Up the next morning, breakfast, and on the road. My darling DH had encouraged me to look for yarn shops, and we stopped at one in Fairmont. The stupid place was closed, so that, and I quote the sign, "I can spend Halloween with my family. If it's a yarn emergency, or you made a special trip, please call and I'll be right there." Good grief. You know the kids, if any, were in school, so what's that about? And no, I was not arrogant enough to call. Okay, I am but I didn't. Next thing she'll take off for Arbor Day.

So on to another shop in Morgantown, small selection and garrulous shop attendant. I bought just enough to be polite and make a shrug for Jess, as she is NOT getting the alpaca one I finished for myself on the drive home. I got some very nice soft acrylic/polyamid that is more in keeping with her laundering preferences. She likes it, so all's well. I found another yarn shop that got rave reviews, but had no time to stop. We were all meeting up for lunch with my mother, so the sister from GA could see her for her birthday. So at 1pm ,mom, DH, me, both sisters, one BIL, two nieces, and the one niece's fiance' all had lunch.

On to the studio to grab our football announcing bag, mad dash home to let out the dogs (Jess had stayed with them for us), then on to announce the senior-night football game. We were playing a team that was 9-0. We were 2-6. And damned if we didn't beat 'em! It was a very tight game, back and forth, our guys playing like they hadn't all season. We were tied in the last minutes, and sure we were headed for overtime, when one of our players who'd been just stunning all night intercepted a pass and ran 65 yards to score. I was hoarse from cheering, and the whole team swarmed the field. Just incredible.

Yesterday was Mom's birthday, and we did some shopping while the DH shot yet another wedding. Joyce has my name for Christmas and bought me a cardigan I tried on that looks mahvelous on me. Wench is making me wait for it though. :-/ Then we had our joint birthday dinner at our place. My eldest and her family, Mom, my next youngest sister and I all pigged out on steak, shrimp and the fixin's, including a Key Lime cake. Since my birthday is Thursday (I know your present is on the way), I received a gorgeous purple pashmina from mom, and some very sweet opal earrings from Joyce. This morning they were off for PA, only returning once for Mom's book and coat. LOL

Today is vegging. I'm wiped out! Now, where's the rest of that cake?

Camo's Hoodie

C'est fini. I finished sewing it up today, and decided to go ahead and throw in the optional kangeroo pocket. He's cute, he loves me, and he makes the sun rise, so I think he's worth it.

As I mentioned before, the multi-colored yarn is my own handspun. It's some of the first stuff I did, and while it's thick/thin in areas, and overspun in others, I'm really delighted with how it knit up. The solid blue is actually more of a royal. To tie everything together, I did the two stripes of handspun on all the areas I needed to do in solid. Since I'm vertically challenged, I had to stand on a ladder to get the whole sweater in, and even then I missed the end of one sleeve. Oh well.

Camo's birthday is next month, and I think I'll find a little matching shirt for him to wear under this to keep him nice and warm this winter. I think it'll fit him next year, too. Just gotta remember to sew one of my "Made With Love" labels inside it, but not at the collar. I'll use the side seam, where it won't scratch him.

Next I finish my socks, then start the Fiesta Mittens. I SO need more knitting time!

It IS West By God Virginia, After All

Having had a week to recover, I just had to share my experience officiating a wedding last Saturday. The only person I'd met from this event prior to the date was the bride. She hired me on our first day in the new studio and was a very pleasant person with whom to deal. (man, proper grammar can be tortuous!) We met again a week before the service. She mentioned that she'd rather start about 15 minutes after the official start time, because she knew her guests, and there would be stragglers. Okay, said I.

On the day, all gussied up in an official but dressy-looking pantsuit, I arrive at the local hotel where the wedding is being held. Not one of our more up-market locations, I knew what to expect having done a wedding there before. I walk in, see a young man in fairly nice dress sitting near the ballroom, and ask him if he knows where the bride is. Sure, says he, and proceeds to take me to her.

To get to the room, you have to key in a code on the hall doorway. He keyed it over and over, and it didn't work. Finally one of the bridesmaids opens the door, telling him he transposed a number. He walks me to the bride's door, knocks, tells them the minister is here and walks away so as not to see the bride. I wait. And wait. Finally I knock again, explain that I am actually standing here, not just in the building, and would like a word with the bride. After ascertaining that I'm alone, they let me in.

I like to see the bride before the service for a couple reasons, especially when, as with this couple, there was no rehearsal. As an aside, unless your wedding is tiny and NO children under 12 are involved, have a rehearsal. Anyway, I like to let the bride see that I'm present and show an oasis of calm demeanor in the chaos that is typically surrounding her. I check for any last minute changes, remind her that no matter how people are pushing her, nothing starts without her, and re-establish how word will get to me that she is indeed ready to start. I get the license, which must be in my hands before the service can be done. All that done, I clear out of the way.

I headed to the ballroom to check out the arrangements in there. I walked in the door to be assailed by the strong smell of bacon, of all things. People are milling around in everything from formal wear to Nascar gear. The arch is nicely decorated, the cake is set up with a twirling cake topper, and the head table is pretty. Everyone else will be seated at tables to watch the service.

Looking around, I see one man the right age to be the groom that's in the right clothing. He's drinking a beer, from a can, in, heaven help us, a cooler-style cozy. It's very apparent that it's not his first. Not that he's incapacitated by any means (I wouldn't do a service if he were; it wouldn't be legally binding), but he's a bit lit. Clinging to his leg is the couple's small son, about age 2, the ringbearer. Said son is very fussy, although dad says he's had a long nap that day. I consolingly reply that it's a lot of strange goings-on for a little one, as I watch with a faintly horrified eye has Junior picks his nose and proceeds to have his own little feast for one. Dad scolds him, and tries to farm him out to a willing helper, but Junior is at that unlovely stage where kids discover the joy of screaming. We let him cling to Daddy.

Someone mentions how good the food smells. Yes, it's all being set up already, like a picnic brought inside. I make my bacon smell observation and am informed that that's because there's a roasted pig back there. I take their word for it. I also listen to remarks that the Mother of the Bride (MoB) is ticked off because the FoB (you work it out) has been drinking already. I get the sense that he shouldn't be drinking at all. But the groom says, "What's he supposed to do when everyone else is having beer?" I refrain from expressing my opinion. I'm feeling almost saintly in my restraint.

The saintliness continues through two more encounters. First, I'm told by the groom and some guests that there's another wedding going on in a different room...and the color scheme for everyone but the bride is camouflage. One guest says with an odd sense of pride, "I told everyone that they're the West Virginia wedding, and we're the Redneck wedding!" Oooookay. Then I'm flagged down by a faintly familiar looking woman. She reminds me that we've done photography for her family before...when we shot her daughter's FIRST wedding a couple of years ago. I wince a bit.

I busy myself filling out the license, and watch the flower girls racing around the room, almost toppling the arch. I help the 'videographers' set up camera angles. And as it gets to be time, one of the bridesmaids tells the groom and I to come out to the lobby, the bride is almost ready and we'll formally walk in. We get out there, and I send the bridesmaid in to ask if the bride is ready to start. She doesn't come back. As the groom wanders off, I send one of the older boys in the wedding party...he doesn't return. While I'm standing alone, I hear a loud noise outside the big entry windows. I turn my head, and am flabbergasted to see an ATV being driven past, beer cans and old boots tied on back. A man whom I assume to be the groom in full camo is driving, as the bride, all in a formal gown, clings to his back and grins like a loon. It's official. I've seen it all.

Finally the groom saunters back, and I send in the bride's dad, who backs out quickly, because she's about to walk out with her groom there! I put a halt to that, and get ready to walk in with the groom. The FoB, definitely a bit worse for that forbidden beer, makes to come with us. I remind him that his daughter might actually like his escort. As we go back in, I ask one of the women who've been arranging things to have everyone be seated, corral a groom who wants to socialize some more, and get things started. The mother of the groom is seated and loudly scolds her husband, the best man, for not having his collar buttoned and his tie at half mast. He answers equally loudly that he can't button it, and the groom backs him up. Then the bridesmaids come in an outside door...and the DJ has vanished. No music is playing, and these girls come down the aisle like they're getting ready to clear a ditch on all four hooves. I sigh, unnoticed.

The little ringbearer comes down, races to Daddy howling, and refuses to let go. I tell the groom to leave him, knowing it will be worse if we try to move him. Then the two flower girls, sisters and adorable. They have lovely silk fall leaves in their basket, and the younger, in front, is clueless. Everyone tries to coach her. Ringbearer sees the older girl dropping her leaves, thinks it's intriguing, and goes to help. Littlest girl drops one or two, and raises her hand to her hair in befuddlement, leaving one leaf as big as half her head stuck in her hair. I laugh, but so does everyone. As she looks around to figure out why we're all laughing, she sees Big Sis dropping leaves, and promptly starts to pick them back up and put them in her basket.

We finally get them down the aisle, and in comes the bride, looking lovely. Her Dad looks wasted. I start the service, and Junior begins wailing. I speak over him, pausing when his parents try to comfort him. This, folks, is the best argument for marriage before children. He continues to scream, and when one line in the service refers to future trials, I make an audible aside and say, "Or even present ones!" This has the effect of cracking everyone up, showing them I'm not upset, and calming the bride and groom. Someone sweeps the little guy away long enough for us to get through the ring portion, and he's back, holding on like a leech, as they share their first kiss as husband and wife. *shew*

I grab my stuff, give the bride her portion of the license and tell her I mail the court copy for her. I give her a hug, and she is profuse in her thanks, and then I dart out the side door to the parking lot. Thinking I've made my escape, I see one of the bridesmaids coming out the front, sobbing her heart out. She's in her late teens, and I'm at a loss as to what's wrong. Figuring that I'd better act my ministerial role, I ask if she needs some help. But the mother of the groom comes out and goes to her, and I'm off the hook. I duck into my car and bolt.

A few days later, I got an email from the bride. I quote (sic):

"I just wanted to thank you for performing our ceremony. We enjoyed everything. And despite the chaos surrounding the beginning, we still thought it went well. Thank you for waiting and being so patient while we straitened everything out. We had a wonderful day. We resolved a payment issue with our dj after a conversation about the ceremony music that didn't get played. He also didn't play anything for the bouquet and garter toss or the cake cutting. It was still nice. Oh, and our cake table caught on fire! But believe it or not, we took everything with a laugh and had such a good time. Thanks again for everything."

That was, if you'll pardon the pun, the icing on the cake.

More Follow-ups & Birthday Knitting

We told the AD we'd settle for a written apology from the dorkbean coach. DH mentioned the pizza joke, and the AD countered with an invitation to a tailgate party...funny, because it's open to EVERYONE. So we'll see.

AND I finally got a response from the Holiday Inn on the bedbug incident, after writing to corporate again about receiving no answer from that hotel manager. They said they investigated the room and found no insects. Well, duh. Three weeks later one would hope that bedspread had been washed! That's the only thing that I laid upon that the DH didn't. Anyway, as a gesture of goodwill, they credited us back about 25% off the room fee. I can live with that. And you can bet I'll never lay down on a hotel bedspread again. When I told my MIL about this, she said the first thing the DH's dad did on entering a hotel room was to remove the bedspread and blankets. Wish I'd known that earlier, but what a dreadful commentary when rooms cost so darn much!

Oh, I found that pattern for the mittens I liked in the one shop (which they didn't have yarn for but left on display). They are called Fiesta Mittens by Lucy Neatby. Her kit pricing was kinda steep for a) something I'd never attempted before and b) a pair of mittens. So I bought the kit from Blackberry Ridge with their fingering weight. I think it's next on my list for a quick knit.

On the knitting front, I'm working feverishly and pretty well exclusively on a birthday gift for my adorable grandson Camo. I'm using my own handspun and Paton's Merino. I knew there wouldn't be enough handspun for the hoodie his mom selected, so I'm using the Paton's for the sleeves and hood, with two stripes of the handspun on those areas to tie it all together. I have a few more rows on the hood, finishing sewing, and ribbing around the hood edge to be done. I'm pleased it's going so well, since I have a month yet till his fifth birthday.

I did sweat a little, though, when I had to RIP OUT THE ENTIRE FRONT!!! Oh, the pain, and all of it my own fault. The pattern, a freebie from Lion Brand, has both kids and adults sizing. Being oh, so clever, I went through and marked the numbers pertaining to Camo's size. Folks, that only works if you mark the right number! On the cast on for the front (knit after the back), I unknowingly marked the adult large. And knit, and knit, all through the drive to OBX and back, wondering why it was taking so much longer to knit than the back had. Finally, just as I'm about to do the neckline shaping, I think to hold it up to the back. The curling of the stockinette had prevented me from realizing that the front was a third again bigger than the back! So I frogged the whole thing, and started over.

All's well now, though, and as soon as it's done, washed and blocked, I'll post you a picture.