But the lack of cold weather fostered our denial for so long that our younger child has nothing to put on her feet but white sandals (and a pair of sneakers which she can’t get on herself, which drives me crazy). So she’s running around the neighborhood in a silk shirt, a shirt, a dress, a cardigan, woolly tights and — white sandals. It might be time to go shoe shopping.

It’s also time to make some heavy drapes for the doors because our next door neighbor dropped by yesterday and gloated (in a cheerful, neighborly way) about our impending heating-bill shock. How bad could it be? Let’s just say that he laughed when I admitted my worst fears and tripled the number I thought we could not possibly exceed. I’m still reserving hope because we have the thermostats between 63-65 for the day (as we have done for years) and drop ‘em to 58 at night (which is going to start even earlier now). But oh boy. I’m still scared.

Time to start knitting more sweaters. Seriously.

Last year I was wishing I was more like Dorothy Parker.

Now it’s coming up on ten days ’til Christmas. Ask me how it’s going. Go on.

Well, it’s actually fine because I’m pretty good at revising plans to suit reality. And I recognize that I would have managed to get a lot more knitted for other people if I didn’t keep on doing things like this:

Two days ago, this was a lost, naked hot water bottle. Now it has a little sweater. A little Malabrigo sweater. Now it has lots more friends and is being invited to parties. It is not, however, a present. It is MINE ALL MINE!

This, however, will be a present if I can ever finish the damned thing. This was my first foray into lace. It does not bode well for my continued shawl production that I finally cried “To hell with it” ten rows short of the end and started to bind off (I-cord) and then lost interest halfway through the bind off.

These are the socks I started in a toe-up sock class my mother gave me as a birthday present. Rather groovesome, no? The yarn is fine, although it is not what I would have chosen from a shelf (it came with the class) so I’m thinking they might be a present too. (Go on, tell me I’m Machiavellian for giving them away. I’m knitting socks for people I love, buster.)

These were going to be for me (the yarn is Artyarns Supermerino) but I do (all right, I admit it) feel a little guilty for wanting to keep the good stuff and give the stripy ones away so these are probably a present too. They’re really lovely. I like them. And they’re being knit on 2s which is really far more satisfying for the deadline crazed knitter than knitting on 1s.

This gorgeousness (Lorna’s Laces in Child’s Play) is going to become socks, as soon as I can find more size 1s. Or maybe scrounge a long circular from somewhere. They will be magnificent. I hope they’re on time. I may be hoping in vain. Do you see that tea there? It’s Celestial Seasonings Tension Tamer. I live on this stuff. I wonder why.

This hat (Shedir from Knitty) is taking up my long circulars and is very nice and will be for my mother (bravely flaunting her bizarre no present rule which she has now confessed she herself is going to break as long as we tell her what we want. Aaaack! Complete mother-induced nervous breakdown enroute).

A finished present: a hat for my beautiful couz. It’s not a surprise so I can post it here. What will surprise her is how large and hideous looking it is. This is because it is not yet felted. I promise that a little agitation (for the hat) and a little wine (for us) and you will have a fabu topper. Really.

And while we’re at it, here’s Helena’s hat. It has a nice button, but it gets tied because the straps are too long. It’s nice, and knit from Aurora 8, which I lurve. Not just love. This wool is so groovy that it gets that sort of sliding funky voice. It’s luuuuuurrrve.

Things not even cast on include a hat for Ed to replace the scratchy one; matching wristbands for me and my sisters; semi-fingerless gloves for my sister’s husband; several stuffed animals (a mini Bobbi bear and several Jess Hutch creations); the tiny pocket creatures from the latest Knitty; autumn leaves socks for my mother; another felted hat for my aunt.

I think I should stop thinking so I don’t remember what I forgot to include. This list already has me knitting non-stop for the next two months. I think I may have gone overboard. Time to revise the revised plan to suit this reality, if I can find reality with a long pole.

Then I discovered that there is a Loop in London, and furthermore in Islington. By the Angel. Kate, are you listening? On Cross Street. By the Angel. Loop. Yarn. Very. Nice. Store. Kate? Go now. Make them stock Malabrigo (this color is called Paris Night) because it makes everyone feel happy.

And remember, if agonizing about appalling lack of political action, knitting makes everything A-OK.

Having hoarded some Malabrigo in Red Java (with an idea that I’d knit the Hot Lava cardigan but then decided I really didn’t like the poofy back), I then got this month’s Interweave Knits and within minutes had cast on this (from the cover):

Only trouble is, I keep stopping to pet it. I’ve also made other people pet it. It makes them feel better about life. I also stop just to gaze lovingly at the color, which looks something not very much like this:

It’s not the recommended yarn (what’s that anyway) and bugger gauge because it’s too beautiful to care. Actually, I care a little. I had to go up a needle size and the gauge is just a little small which is fine because I’m knitting a size which is just a little big but keeping the length measurements for the smaller size and then just petting and gazing and inviting others to pet and gaze.

A less tactile (I try not to pet yarn too much when it is already on other people. Unless they ask me to) but still satisfying moment was when Kaela stopped by to show off her beautiful sideways Spencer. (Yes, okay, I’m bragging. It’s really pretty even though it came out a little small). And it looks perfect on her.

Too bad I’m better at knitting than shooting photos. Still, you get the idea.

There’s also been a hat for me and a hat for Helena. I’ll save those until I get someone to photograph us. There’s a third hat which is in its pre-felting stage but should probably still get a photo. Next time.

In related news, one rainy afternoon, the children decided (I convinced them it would be fun) to make knitting needles. We sharpened dowels and then sanded them and then rubbed them with waxed paper (which really works). Then we made clay tops. Here is Daniel waiting for the clay to dry.

Luckily, he eventually decided to do something else instead of willing the clay to dry faster with the power of his mind. So he decided to doodle roman numerals. Why can’t all these maniac schools just come over our house for an hour? Bugger the interviewing process; let’s give it to ‘em raw and undiluted. Then they’d know what they’re in for.

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Apparently, there was a study which examined what people enjoy most about Thanksgiving and most said something like: the chance to be all together with the family. This is probably my number one reason too, but some days I’m not sure why.

I love my extended family. Nevertheless, my aunt knows everything and likes to tell you about it, sometimes in Italian (even though she’s Irish), my mother worries constantly about whether all the food will be hot at the same time, my father dislikes my aunt and hides in the television room (called the porch, for unknown reasons) and otherwise criticizes anyone’s toaster oven technique. My sisters and I spend much of our time confused as to why holidays in our childhood home seem so tense and fraught when normally we get along really well and have fun together. Our male partners mostly look a bit stunned.

My children love holidays in my parents’ home. They are entertained by a slew of adults except when suddenly, all the adults mysteriously disappear and then they wonder what they heck they should be doing. Then they demand to play Cranium, which has established itself as the game to play, but they’re really not old enough to get hummed versions of Stayin’ Alive or want to spell gargantuan backwards on the first try. Or any try. We did play some Battleship and then Daniel was introduced to the world of GameBoy via his sort of not really but probably cousin Aidan. Aidan is eight. Or almost eight, and has a GameBoy. Daniel fell madly in love and spent most of the two days Aidan was around curled up with him on the couch gazing loving at his GameBoy. It looked rather sweet, actually, and Aidan was very good natured about the whole thing, but you know what is now number one on DantheMan’s Christmas list.

The rest you know. Food was consumed, pie devoured. Children were entertained and migraines were survived (not mine, Ed’s). Birthday’s were had in a sort of extended remix way, since the actual birthday was on Thanksgiving and so cake happened the next day but presents happened in a random way (including today) and that’s just fine. Next year, though, I may plan a bit more fiercely and get taken out to the rodeo or something else wacky. Very much enjoyed an afternoon and evening with the lovely and wonderful Excellent Walker and Pedestrian Rage (yes! in the flesh!) and many drinks were drunk by all.

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This was going to be the bit about youth and vibrancy but actually that deserves its own little post so this will be merely a passing comment about 5’9″ basketball players with springs in their feet. What a shot. Makes me wish I was even mildly interested in sports.

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I have been knitting, you will be surprised to hear. I have not, however, managed to photograph anyone. While you wait, I offer you this instead. Why do these three look so depressed? It’s because they’ve just watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (the only film they’ve seen actually in a cinema all year, poor things) and it was, well, not good. Mike Newall (the director) does, however, really understand adolescent boys and he really understands boarding school so if you can ignore the fact that the rest of the film is incoherent, badly edited dodo droppings, it’s worth a peek. From a sociological viewpoint. Cute scarves, though. Probably a knitting pattern already out there.

No matter how hard it is to take, however, I don’t have to live with it all the time. It’s not in me. It is, however, in her. She carries it with her. She can’t get away from it. That must be so hard, to live all the time, leaning against that spongy wall of pessimism. Really, fundamentally, I feel bad for her. I feel like there must, somewhere in there, be a very sad, lonely little person who would like to be held, to be comforted. I can’t do it directly of course. Nononononono. No emotions please. But when I’m in one of my good spaces, I can covertly try to be kind.

So the scarf was for her. I think she liked it.